The Big Bad Wolf
by musicalsoul85
Summary: Detective Jane Rizzoli and Doctor Maura Isles are joined by the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds) and must quickly learn to work alongside them, as well as balance their relatively new relationship, whilst the wolf circles ever closer. (There's a more detailed description inside) Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Whilst I attempt to put the finishing touches on my almost completed story _Where's Jane?_ And try to straighten out where I want another story to go (_Chasing Shadows_, if you're interested) I decided to launch into something I've been planning for quite a while. What might happen if the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI had to work alongside Detective Jane Rizzoli and Doctor Maura Isles in catching perhaps the most intelligent and dangerous criminal of their careers?

In terms of a general time frame, this is probably set around Season Seven of Criminal Minds, due to the fact I felt greater confidence in writing the character of Emily Prentiss as opposed to Alex Blake, who we've spent less time with. For Rizzoli and Isles, it's set somewhere around after Season Three, and it's also slightly AU as they are indeed a couple in this story. The rating is going to be M from the outset, due to the potentially disturbing themes and adult content which will most likely be commonplace throughout.

Within each chapter there will be bookend quotes used, often to reflect that particular chapter's content and/or meaning, just as they are utilized so brilliantly in every Criminal Minds episode. There will be no other pairings aside from that of Rizzoli and Isles. There might be small mentions of previous relationships or indeed, current partnerships, but there will be no romantic links between the team members, just to be clear from the start.

That's about all I have to say right now, I hope this extended note made the general plot a little clearer without giving too much away. This note is ridiculously long, so I'll warp it up here, I hope you enjoy the first chapter, and leave a review if you feel so inclined. Constructive criticism and suggestions are, as always, entirely welcome!

* * *

_Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old._

**Franz Kafka**

Despite the general hum of activity in the bullpen, one particular voice could be heard above all others. It was a habit of Detective Crowe to insist upon unsettling the delicate balance at work between the members of the Boston Police Homicide Department. The man seemed to gain a certain sense of perverse pleasure at inflicting irritation and pain on his fellow colleagues. One jeering remark was not enough and never did he give pause to reflect on how his comments and insinuations could have a potentially negative effect on the morale of his team members.

Common courtesy was apparently a term that hadn't been programmed into the young Detective's brain. It was often regarded as a mystery to many Officers as to how he ever managed to get into Homicide. There were rumours that he had gleaned credit from his partners in the past in order to secure an excellent record which in no way reflected his true talents, or indeed, lack thereof. Since this was yet to be substantiated by any significant amount of evidence, he was simply an annoyance that had to be tolerated in the daily grind, another constant in a rapidly changing field. In any occupation, men like Crowe were expected to make an appearance, but in law enforcement, it was a man like Crowe who could lead to mistakes being made and lives lost.

"Wow Rizzoli, you're gettin' old! How you gonna chase perps with your zimmer?" Detective Crowe jeered as the only female Detective in the Homicide Department stood by her desk, gazing down in wide eyed shock at the array of presents littering its normally ordered and relatively clean surface. Their shiny paper caught the lights at every turn and shimmered, delightfully cheery in an otherwise rather dreary room that was decorated only with such daring dashes of color once a year at Christmas.

Sergeant Vincent Korsak walked up behind Crowe and slapped him around the back of the head, eliciting an indignant growl from the man which was consequently ignored. With one final warning glare over his shoulder, Korsak made a beeline for his own desk and hopped onto the edge with a smug, knowing smile at Detective Jane Rizzoli.

The Sergeant loved birthdays. He always had done, ever since he was a young boy. Granted, as one grew older some of the charm faded from those special days, but whenever a birthday rolled around in his squad room, there were gifts and celebrations. Even Crowe received a cake a few months ago. There was something about marking another year gone by with an element of respect, and, despite the looming awareness that every year brought him closer to retirement, Vincent Korsak could never escape the childish glee he so cherished at the sight of the uncomfortable mixture of embarrassment, joy and confusion etched on the faces of his team each year.

Detective Jane Rizzoli thumbed the tag on one of the gifts and laughed gruffly when she recognized Frost's handwriting, a messy scrawl that was barely legible. It had clearly been scribbled down in a rush, probably when she left to use the bathroom not ten minutes ago. The younger man may be obsessed with every excruciating detail when it came to cases, but he was laughably disorganized with these kinds of events. Not that she could fault him for that, or even pass comment on it, for she was just as bad. Indeed, on some occasions, even worse.

Jane raked a hand back through her tawny scrawl of dark hair and blew out a strained breath through gritted teeth as she recognized the scent floating into the bullpen even before the tell-tale clicking of high heels could be heard echoing down the hallway. Mentally preparing herself for the sight that was momentarily about to greet her appreciative eyes was a daily task that needed extensive amounts of concentration. Often, it took every ounce of self-control the Detective possessed from the tips of her toes to the top of her head not to pounce on the woman that was about to announce her arrival with a trademark, hundred watt smile.

Doctor Maura Isles appeared in the doorway like a breath of fresh air, beaming at everyone as if it were Christmas and not just Jane Rizzoli's thirty fifth birthday. The grin that stretched Jane's features couldn't have been postponed or prevented even for all the tea in China. Whenever the ME was present, her entire demeanor changed. It couldn't be helped. There was something about the blonde sashaying around in one of her figure hugging outfits _(a dark blue blouse matched with a rather daring leather skirt was today's ensemble) _that set her heart racing and turned her sharp mind into little fluffs of marshmallow. The Doctor's reddish blonde hair was perfectly styled as usual, the boisterous curls bouncing on shoulders waiting impatiently for the frequent brush of sunshine to grace them from above.

Except when Jane's eyes finally managed to tear themselves away from the beautiful smile adorning Maura's face and the way it made her eyes twinkle merrily, she noticed that the late arrival was holding something in those talented hands that caused her smile to falter. "Maurahh!" She was whining, in jest of course, she couldn't be angry with Maura, not for long anyway. Not these days. There was a tiny foot stomp, visible only to Korsak and Maura, both of whom rolled their eyes, "I said no cake!" Jane pointed one long finger accusingly at the offering Maura was clutching far in front of her lest a spot of chocolate frosting land on her impeccable clothes.

Maura tipped her head to one side with a smirk as she prowled forward, sending a smile around the room that had grown men growing weak at the knees. She sent the Detective a sweet pout, "Well you don't have to eat any of it then Jane, if it makes you feel better. I'm sure the rest of us..." Maura glanced around the busy bullpen for support and was met by eager grins and nodding heads, "Will enjoy it on your behalf."

Jane was bloody well _sure_ they were ready to do just about anything to make Maura happy, bunch of idiots. Six years and her presence, the intoxicating charm and that wonderful body still had the same effect on every one of them. Then again, Jane supposed something similar could be said for her. Just then, Detective Barry Frost bounded into the room clutching paper plates, napkins and something in a plastic shroud that looked ominous. He held it above his head and then passed it to Maura with a sidelong squint at Jane that said _'Sorry partner.'_ It was a knife to cut the cake. Obviously this had been planned beforehand.

"Well, are you going to open your gifts Jane?" Maura enquired sweetly, batting her eyelashes all the while knowing that mere hours earlier Jane had been unwrapping a very different kind of present in the form of Maura Isles in all her scantily clad glory. Blushing furiously at the memory of it, Jane blindly reached for one of the smaller objects and unceremoniously ripped the paper from it, much to Maura's horror. She was the type of woman who could spend half an hour on one item at Christmas while Jane peered at her over the top of a mountain of ever growing shredded wrapping paper with horror in her eyes.

In fact, last Christmas Maura had done just that. The Doctor had insisted that the Rizzoli clan spend Christmas Eve at her home, due to the fact it was the most spacious and therefore ideal for a gathering of family and friends. Jane was convinced that her best friend had endeavored to ensure that every single last one of them stayed until Christmas morning, and she found Maura's giddy excitement at being surrounded by the people she loved infectious as well as utterly disarming. The following morning an abundance of gifts were torn open with feverish glee by the Rizzoli's, who had no patience for being delicate with the wrapping paper, regardless of how pretty it may be. Maura, on the other hand, almost disappeared beneath a tidal wave of paper as she fought valiantly to keep up with her friends. She failed of course, and was the final person to finish unwrapping her presents, but the smile on her face that did not dissipate the entire day was enough to still whatever jokes might have been budding on the tip of Jane's tongue.

A mere three minutes later and Jane was surrounded by a collection of torn paper and gag gifts including an absolutely hideous pen holder. The thing was shaped like an ass. Two butt cheeks, side by side. The full ensemble right there on display. One of the younger Officers had purchased it under instruction from Crowe that the Detective found such things _'hilarious.' _The withering glare Jane sent his way told him that for future reference, she didn't find such things at all amusing. However, he failed to notice the tiny smirk she flashed at the obscene gift as she pushed it to the opposite side of her desk and popped a pen into the designated hole.

There was also something wittily entitled a _'Douchebag Alert Button,'_ an alarm that could be pushed down to produce an ear bending siren call Frost had picked out for her. At her questioning look, he merely said, "Y'know, just for him," and nodded at Detective Crowe which gave everyone a laugh. Despite their penchant for stupid gifts that she warned them time and again not to waste money on, this year they had also chipped in and purchased her tickets to see the Sox, declaring that she _'was five years from forty now and needed to mark the occasion properly.' _Jane tried not to let them see how touched she was by the gesture, but not one of them could mistake the misty eyed smile on her face.

At least, the smile that remained until she opened the second to last present left on her desk for the traditional unveiling. There, in all its inanimate, pink, pulsating veined glory was the biggest dildo Jane had ever seen. Not that she'd ever been confronted with many, but Maura possessed a couple, and this one blew all of her scary toys right out of the water.

Jane looked up with a venomous snarl on her face, eyes instantly tracking and landing directly on a sniggering Detective Crowe who was trying his best to keep his enjoyment of the situation quiet. He met her gaze with a faux innocent expression of surprise, raising his eyebrows guiltlessly. As Jane stepped forward, determined to end this once and for all, she felt a small, instantly recognizable, steady hand on her arm that held her back just long enough for Maura to say with an indulgent smile, "Wishful thinking Detective?"

The Doctor stepped in front of Jane under the pretence of gathering some of the shredded and discarded paper into her arms. Upon her descent to the trash can at their feet, she somehow managed to run her leather clad behind lightly down the length of Jane's long legs. This was a deliciously agonizing journey where Rizzoli simultaneously thanked and cursed whoever might be responsible for her long bones. Maura had succeeded in prompting everyone into a stunned silence, but when she finally straightened, allowing Jane to breathe again, and said, "When buying gifts for others we often subconsciously purchase what we ourselves desire," with a smirk and a head tilt, the men gathered around them burst into raucous laughter. Crowe's face went an interesting shade of red as his buddies started on him.

Jane turned to face the Medical Examiner, who met her gaze with a knowing smile and rocked forwards on her tiptoes to plant a gentle kiss on her lips. Blushing again for entirely different reasons, Jane ducked her head and picked up the last gift.

It felt light, not as light as the box that had contained the tickets sitting on a bed of blue tissue stuff that Maura had helpfully sourced for the guys from goodness knows where, but light nevertheless. The wrapping paper was metallic silver, with tiny golden swirls traced along the edges as though painted with the smallest of brushes. It was pretty, if you appreciated that sort of thing. The tag read simply, _'Jane.'_ There was also a ribbon tied at the top. It was a deep red that contrasted slightly with the more subdued paper beneath. Raising her eyebrows, Jane looked around the room in order to ascertain who this final offering belonged to. Their attention had wandered for the most part, their eyes locked on the delectable cake waiting to be demolished as soon as this last present was opened.

Jane shrugged as she untied the ribbon, shooting Maura a distracted half smile as the Doctor began cutting the cake into generous slices and placing them delicately onto paper plates, slapping eager hands away as she went._ 'Hmm, maybe I will just have a slice of that..._' Jane thought vaguely to herself as she lifted the lid, staring down into the box with fading interest as her mouth watered with the expectation of chocolate cake waiting for her.

When her eyes focused on the contents of said box, she almost started to smile, wholeheartedly believing that this was one final joke most likely chosen by one of Crowe's little minions. Then, as the details of the objects resting within began to emerge, the smile quickly slipped from Jane's face. She set down the lid onto her desk and placed her palms flat against the hard surface, the coolness of the wood against her scarred hands almost seemed to be preventing her from floating off the floor and into oblivion. She stood there, utterly still, staring into the gift box as if the answer to all of life's many questions waited within.

"Jane?" Maura said softly, edging slightly around the desk, concern making her tone richer and higher, "Jane...?" She repeated, but her voice was distant, like she might have been at the other end of a telephone line as opposed to standing just a foot away. The Detective eventually managed to look up at the three very confused faces of her Sergeant, partner and girlfriend of two months. With a sigh of resignation, Jane motioned them towards her and allowed them a look inside.

Frost leapt back almost as soon as he peered in with a strangled exclamation of, "Jesus Christ!" He swooned his way into his chair and sat there, staring up at Jane with barely disguised shock. Korsak and Maura stared down for at least thirty seconds, both with equally curious and slightly disgusted expressions, for there, resting on a bed of downy cotton wool, sat two bloody ears, their edges ragged and torn, the congealed blood having settled there and turned an unappealing black. What made the sight even more sickening were the piercings. Each ear had a normal piercing at the lobes, but then there was an array of more daring, adventurous earrings dangling from the appendages, which told Jane;

"These probably belonged to a young woman," Korsak commented in a matter of fact tone, voicing her thoughts as he had honed the ability to do so. Jane glanced into the box again; arms folded over her crisp white shirt, mouth set in a firm line as she raked her practiced gaze over the contents. To a bystander, this image might have been one of professionalism. However, to those who knew her best, it would be abundantly clear that this was Detective Jane Rizzoli's battle stance. Never had she taken well to someone directly contacting her with the intention of installing fear. In fact, never before had she been confronted with something as bold as this.

It was Maura who read the note scrawled on a thin slip of paper which had been draped gently, almost lovingly, in front of the torn flesh. Her voice was cold, flat, missing its usual chirpiness. The words rolled from her tongue as the remaining officers gathered round for a glance. The Doctor took a breath before reading aloud;

"_ALL THE BETTER TO HEAR YOU WITH,"  
_

* * *

_I understand that fear is my friend, but not always. Never turn your back on fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed._

**Hunter S. Thompson**


	2. Chapter 2

_The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown._

**H.P Lovecraft**

The day passed quickly, just as days always seemed to do whenever a new case opened up and it was attacked with the vigorous fresh fervor that is sourced from immediate enthusiasm. That sense of urgency often dissipates with the passage of time for certain Detectives. Jane Rizzoli and her team were an exception to this, but nevertheless, they also experienced that instantaneous rush of adrenaline. And indeed, when a Detective has been directly drawn into the perpetrator's fantasy everything steps up a notch. A plethora of meanings could potentially be extracted from this situation. Presenting those trophies to Jane Rizzoli in the middle of the bullpen was a bold, daring move, and the entire spectacle reeked of confidence and showmanship.

The whiteboard propped behind Jane's desk held a mass of scrawled notations and ideas that she, Korsak and Frost spent the afternoon discussing. Their thoughts had been uttered and tossed around and subsequently, mostly discarded. Perhaps the ears were a warning; they might also be the perp's way of catching their attention and interest in a way that he has yet to achieve. Three very different sets of handwriting littered the board and each comment, each new idea, seemed to be slightly less knowledgeable than the last. It was as if in discussing the limited information they had in front of them, it continued to lessen and disappear into the very atmosphere like puffs of breath on a cold morning.

When the frustration finally began taking a marked toll on the Detective she made the decision to visit the person who held the power to still her quaking nerves and soothe the ragged edges of her tattered and bruised psyche. On days such as these, there was only one woman Jane could turn to. Maura Isles, despite her desperate need for quantifying, evidence and practicalities, was somehow the most adept at offering comfort, solace and light in an often otherwise gray horizon.

Jane pushed open the door that led into Maura's domain with a quiet sigh, straightening her spine in an effort to disguise the fatigue settling inside her body. Even as a seasoned Homicide Detective, it was still shocking to see such carnage lying on her desk. Something that once belonged to a human being had been carved up like a piece of meat and callously presented to her under a false impression of innocence and familiarity. And if there was one thing Jane Rizzoli could do without, it was a set of ears appearing on her desk in a pretty little gift box. On her damned birthday. Some perpetrators just had no class. If you're going to be a psychotic killer who sends severed ears to Detectives you should at least show some respect with it.

The sight of Maura Isles standing sentry in her laboratory with her trusted assistant Senior Criminalist Susie Chang beside her filled the Detective with a stillness and calmness which had thus far eluded her throughout the day. Even the mere sight of her girlfriend performing her professional duties poured a healing balm over her frazzled, overworked mind. Doctor Isles was patient as always, comfortable in her role as Chief Medical Examiner. Hers was an authority never abused. She was not a Doctor in name only; Maura respected her title and everything it entailed. Every responsibility, the endless amounts of reports, pressure and limited resources, the callous, ill informed remarks from those who couldn't understand how someone could convene on such an intimate level with the dead, it was all taken and accepted with grace and humility, because that was Maura Isles through to the soul.

Maura and Susie, although wearing similar lab coats and expressions of utmost concentration, could not be more aesthetically different to the naked eye. The taller of the two looked entirely at home in her expensive, tailored pantsuit that complimented her figure with effortless ease as always. Whilst the younger technician seemed to have no problem wearing rather more practical attire in the name of all the scurrying to and fro she participated in willingly all day, carrying test results and tox reports like precious newborn children in her arms. Despite these all too evident differences, both possessed a remarkable sense of dedication towards the difficult, often frustrating occupation they filled so well.

The sound of Jane Rizzoli's boots hitting the floor with her purposeful strides drew the attention of the two women who had been previously engrossed in the task at hand. Maura glanced up with concern in her bright eyes and almost instantaneously found the gritty set of her Detective as though pulled there by some magnetic force. A tentative smile formed on Maura's face as she drank in the image before her. She was sure that there would never come a day where she tired of the simple sight of Jane Rizzoli in her rumpled shirt and slacks, growling at passing assistants like an aggressive, human sized terrier.

"_Please..."_ Jane said dramatically, bumping her lean hip up against the work station and shooting the two women a pleading look as she tossed her hands up in the air helplessly, "Please," She repeated, "Tell me you have something. Frost's about to start crying 'cause he doesn't have anything to do..." Jane mimed typing erratically with her long digits, prompting a shared glance of amusement to pass quickly between Maura and her assistant, "With his itchy little… Keyboard fingers."

Maura pulled her goggles down slightly, tossing her head back and forth for a moment to free her curls before turning her head to Susie for guidance. The younger woman shrugged, allowing her companion and superior to take the lead. For once, she had no folder of results to hand over with a sense of self satisfaction. Today, they were relying almost entirely on the very basics of forensic evidence. Being in possession of such a small part of the human body was a drastically different and more difficult task than examining an entire cadaver, and she was not used to having such tiny amounts of findings to deliver.

"Well," The Doctor sighed, "Considering we only have a small tissue sample to analyze, and add that to the fact the appendages have clearly been thoroughly sterilized before they were sent to you... I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of information to relay." Sensing the disappointment and frustration rolling off the Detective in palpable waves, Maura pressed on quickly, "As you already know, there were no DNA matches found on VICAP or Missing Persons. Nor was there a Criminal Record found,"

Maura waved her hand, "There is almost no trace evidence for us to work with. Our perpetrator was _incredibly _aware," Doctor Isles heavily pronounced the word in order to convey exactly how aware the man they were dealing with was and to what extent he had taken great pains to cover his tracks, "Of how much evidence can be gathered from even the minutest sample, and..." She nodded at the equipment in front of her, "The manner in which we execute our investigation. He reacted accordingly, destroying whatever evidence he might have left behind, even going so far as to diminish almost anything significant we might have been able to find about the victim from this limited sample."

Upon noticing the crestfallen look on Jane's exhausted face, the Doctor held up a finger, "However," she enunciated cautiously, wary of getting her girlfriend's hopes up too high. Jane's eyebrows rocketed comically despite her girlfriend's wary tone. "There are a number of things we can say. These appendages belonged to a Caucasian female aged approximately between eighteen and thirty." Doctor Isles beckoned the Detective closer, stepping aside to allow her an unobstructed view of the evidence she most likely never wanted to see again. However, right now, they all had to maintain their professionalism.

"The piercings were indicative of this, but after further analysis, it's evident that these did once belong to a woman of that age range due to the lack of tissue deterioration and the state of the severed appendages in the sample. Two of the piercings were very recent; we can see that from the inflamed areas around both the lobule..." Maura pointed to the ear lobe first and then allowed her finger to travel slowly to the tip with Jane's heated gaze following it closely, "And the scaphoid fossa, this area here," She indicated just inside the appendage, drawing a loose circle in mid air. Jane absorbed the information with a wrinkled nose, not particularly enjoying this up close inspection.

"Now," Maura said, sounding a tad more upbeat, which immediately sparked Jane's interest, prompting her to lean forwards slightly, meeting the Doctor's animated gaze with barely disguised adoration at home in her expression. Susie Chang watched their exchange with a suppressed smirk. Even after all these years working alongside the two women she couldn't help but be subtly entertained by their interactions. The comfortable way in which they dealt with one another was often a tad exasperating when she was desperate to disclose information without indulging in time for their affectionate banter to play out before she interfered. However, more often than not, she just enjoyed listening to their contrasting methodology at work within the complimentary nature of their relationship.

Unaware of her technician's quiet amusement, Maura continued unabashedly, "Susie and I have discussed our findings, and we are confident that this particular woman had been receiving treatment for an infection. Namely, Otitis Externa," Upon noticing Jane's blank look, Maura elaborated hurriedly, employing the tone she utilized when explaining the complex terminology she so often integrated into her daily life, "Otitis Externa is an infection or inflammation of the outer ear and inner ear canal. More commonly known as _'Swimmer's Ear,'_" The Doctor used her dexterous fingers to surround the term in air quotes, leading to an eye roll from the Detective, "Due to the high rate of people who regularly participate in underwater activities who report and suffer from this infection. It's usually treated with ease, mostly through antibiotics and antihistamines. We found slight traces of antibiotic ear drops deeper inside the ear canal and this specific brand's name, after Susie helpfully searched through endless databases, is..." Maura let the end of that sentence hang there as she smiled encouragingly at Susie Chang

Susie Chang took a step forward as though marking her moment in the spotlight with physical proximity to the action and consulted her clipboard with a flourish, "Waxgone," Chang announced, before quickly glancing back down at her board with a confused frown. _"Waxgone?"_ She repeated incredulously, her upper lip curling in equal amounts of disgust and amusement.

Jane snorted out a chuckle, "What an inventive name!" The older woman commented wryly, sharing a grin with the tech.

"Embarrassing brand names aside," Maura interjected with a smirk, "Hopefully our hypothesis that this young woman regularly participated in underwater activities..."

Rizzoli rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "_Underwater activities?_ Really? Swimming, Maur..." Doctor Isles continued on in spite of being rudely interrupted, "Coupled with the fact that these piercings are relatively recent, as well as the fact she was receiving treatment for this particular infection, might give you enough information to begin actively attempting to identify this woman."

Jane slapped a hand against the lab table with a delighted grunt, "We've got a shot at tracking her down. Thanks Maur, and you Susie..." She said, tipping her colleagues a grateful nod which was accepted with two near identical smiles. "Okay," she grasped her strong hands together at the prospect of getting out and doing her gumshoe thing, "I'm gonna go get Frost to start compiling a list of swim meets and teams in the area. Korsak can go through Missing Person's reports, see if anyone has these distinguishing characteristics, just in case we missed something first time around." Detective Rizzoli gave her thumb a thoughtful chew for a moment before adding, "And I'll grab Frankie and some other uni's and get out canvassing tattoo and piercing parlors with the information we have, see if what we know rings any bells." The Detective sighed as she pushed back a lock of hair that was determined to escape and run free from the rest of the messy pack, "She's obviously been to have multiple piercings before..." Jane sighed and shrugged her bowed shoulders tiredly, "Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky."

Puckering her lips, Jane scrubbed a palm over her pale face and commented, "You know what really bothers me? The card he left. The message," Detective Rizzoli elevated one finger, allowing it to rest in the air in front of her as she summarized the thoughts previously aired with her fellow Officers, "This… Allusion to Little Red Riding Hood, what does it mean? Does he identify himself as some kind of lone wolf, being above the law? Or does he just want to scare us?"

Maura Isles considered this for a moment, directing her gaze towards the severed ears lying on the bench in front of her. After around ten seconds or so, she added to Jane's musings with a theory of her own, "I think the answer to that question lies with his reasoning behind choosing you to communicate with. He could have chosen another Detective; there have been other birthdays recently. My _hypothesis_," The Doctor raised her eyebrows, challenging the Detective to counter her assertion with the claim that she was, in fact, merely guessing, "Is that he selected_ you_ specifically because you are the most well known. You've been in the public eye for a number of years, contacting you would gain him the most attention."

"Speaking of," Jane said sullenly, wishing Maura would have kept her theory quiet for the moment, considering she had already mulled over that angle for hours on end earlier, "I think Cavanaugh's gonna call an interdepartmental briefing later. I know I don't have to say it to you, but don't repeat any of this outside these four walls. If the press gets a hold of this…" Rizzoli broke off with a feigned shudder.

Susie nodded, allowing her gaze to land on the evidence just as Maura had previously done, "This could become sensationalized incredibly fast." Maura commented flatly, effectively stating Susie's own thoughts on the matter. The younger woman piped up again, this time with a puzzled look and a question, "Little Red Riding Hood was a story about a child, these belonged to a woman. Why not take them from a kid, if he wants to use the fairytale as his method of communicating with us?"

Maura said, "The fairytale of _Little Red Riding Hood_, also referred to simple as _Red Riding Hood,_ can be traced back as far as early seventeenth century European writings and although differing versions of the tale have been published since, the more widely known version is that penned by the Brothers Grimm. The earlier story lacks the quintessential happy ending, but that of the Brothers Grimm has both the little girl and her grandmother saved by a huntsman, who also kills the wolf," The Doctor paused, allowing her explanation time to sink in with her companions before adding, "There are a variety of interpretations taken from the tale, and many of them are to do with some form of sexual awakening taking place within the young girl. Perhaps we are dealing with a perpetrator who is interested in that side of the story."

Jane stepped away from her colleagues and paced back and forth, her dark, unruly hair hiding the intense concentration in her eyes, "That's what I'm afraid of, if he sees the woman who those ears belonged to as being the girl from that story…" She stopped to shake her head, "That doesn't make sense to me. Inside his fantasy, whatever it might be, I think something else motivated him in sending them. Something bigger than just some old fairytale,"

Maura bit her lip, "Have you considered what you might tell the next of kin, if by chance you do happen to find someone who can identify the victim?"

"I haven't got that far yet," Jane grimaced, "I'll have to think about it. There isn't really anything I can say for definite except I have a pair of ears…" The Detective suppressed a shudder, "It will be difficult to provide a formal identification until…"

She didn't have to finish her statement. Everyone was clear on the meaning. They wouldn't be able to say for definite who they belonged to until a DNA analysis had been conducted, and for that to occur they would need familial or spousal consent. And what basis did they have for that? _'Oh excuse me Sir/Madam, hope you don't mind if we take a sample from your lovely home, these ears haven't left us much to go on at all.'_

"And I don't like what it suggests," Jane stated with cold finality, returning to the workstation and propping her elbows onto the surface as though needing to redistribute some of the weight taken by her feet to somewhere else, allowing them a moment's respite. Maura and Jane shared a look of pained understanding whilst Susie turned her head from Doctor to Detective, confusion weaving its way into her eyes behind thick rimmed, stylish glasses.

"Why? What does it suggest?" Susie enquired, her voice rising a little higher than usual.

Detective Jane Rizzoli sighed resignedly, raising her lowered gaze to meet the concern filled eyes of her girlfriend.

"All the better to hear," Rizzoli counted out on the fingers of her left hand, "See, hug and _eat_ you with." Jane swallowed thickly, "It suggests that there are more victims, or more body parts out there to be found."

* * *

_Fantasy abandoned by reason produces impossible monsters. _

**Francisco Goya**


	3. Chapter 3

_The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness._

**Joseph Conrad**

The next morning, with the previous evening's warning from Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh still ringing resolutely in her mind, Detective Jane Rizzoli was once again out canvassing every establishment in the surrounding area who possessed a license to offer facial and body piercings. This time, she had been joined by Detective Barry Frost. They were armed solely with their limited knowledge gleaned from Doctor Maura Isles' initial findings and a rather grisly image of the severed ears tucked away inside Jane's blazer pocket. Exposing the general public to such extreme levels of gore was not usually advisable, but they were growing increasingly desperate for a lead.

Jane could remember only one case that had ignited a similar fire in her gut and it had led her to Charles Hoyt and months, even years, of physical and mental agony. Somewhere, deep in a dark crevice at the back of her mind, Jane was worried that having been drawn into the perpetrator's fantasy immediately, it was close to inevitable that she played a major role in whatever he had planned. Being the subject of yet another obsession was a terrifying prospect, one she had hoped she would not have to dwell upon so soon after disposing of the man who haunted her waking and dreaming hours and exalted in her suffering.

With summer fading into the background and the slightly cooler weather taking center stage, both Detectives had opted for warmer clothing than they had been used to wearing for the past few months. Jane had adorned a thicker, wool blazer and buttoned it tightly up the front, hoping to ward off the chill without the need for a cumbersome jacket. Frost had pulled on a navy windbreaker sourced from the office with the words _BOSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT_ emblazoned on the back. He looked at the large writing sourly before Rizzoli encouraged him to at least bring the offending item with him. The younger man was now grateful he left a smattering of pride behind him for the sake of warmth. Despite the fact temperatures were not yet too low, being out in the elements for over four hours began making itself known in chapped lips, broken skin and slightly numb fingers.

Officer Francesco Rizzoli and a number of other men and women in uniform had managed to source and question, in total, almost fifty employees who worked at various businesses. Of that number, ten had offered potential names for the unidentified victim. However, none had proven correct in their identifications. A suitable amount were horrified at the implication that one of their customers had been viciously attacked in this way, and although Cavanaugh explicitly warned every Officer on patrol only to provide a glimpse at the image of the severed appendages to the managers of each establishment, it was growing evident that this entire endeavor was unlikely to provide them with any results due to the distinct lack of concrete questions available to provide them with a solid basis for questioning.

The Detectives decided to visit two more shops before breaking for lunch and some much needed heat in their bones, and, having made that executive decision, were keen to make short work of it. The final establishment on their list was by far the most aesthetically pleasing of the nine already frequented that morning. Even from outside on the sidewalk it was immediately clear that whoever owned this business took great pride in its maintenance. The large front windows were spotlessly clean and were, for a change, entirely free of lewd pictures of half naked human beings flaunting a plethora of, in Jane's humble opinion, horrendous tattoos and even uglier piercings. Instead, there was one sign near the sill that read, **HELP WANTED, CALL THIS NUMBER FOR DETAILS OR CONTACT US INSIDE TODAY**, in perfectly pleasant and neat handwriting. Even the name of this establishment was tolerable; _SKIN DEEP._

Frost rubbed his hands together in an effort to generate some warmth between chilled fingers and walked forwards, glancing at his partner over one stooped shoulder as he went. The younger Detective was concerned about Jane, and not just because he recognized the haunted glaze in her eyes from before Hoyt's death. Frost was concerned because she was yet again a target. Being the only female in the Boston Homicide Department brought with it envy, reverence, respect and also an incredible amount of public attention.

Whether she was being painted as a hero or as an incompetent woman with no real grounds for being showered with praise and credentials depending on how her latest case was developing, it was impossible for her to avoid being noticed. It was this notoriety that attracted criminals and civilians alike to Jane Rizzoli. Frost was well aware of the dangers of being so known on both sides of the law, and he had never met another Officer who had experienced the good, the bad and the ugly aspects of simply doing her job.

This was by no means the first time Jane Rizzoli might have to place her tattered crown of thorns atop her bloody head and wade into battle. For when one lives and breathes in a world of violence and death, there must always be a willing sacrificial offering waiting to be fed to the hungry lions. Therein lurks the danger of being eaten, or joining the vicious pack.

"Rizzoli…" Barry Frost said quietly, so as not to startle his colleague, who was evidently not exactly mentally present at that moment judging by the faraway look in her eyes. The Detective peeled her gaze from the sidewalk and nodded once, and then again, as though clearing her head of the dark thoughts that often plagued her even in the middle of active duty. "You ready?" He added, being sure to avoid using terminology like _'are you alright? You sure you're okay?' _Frost did not appreciate being questioned in such a manner, and he had grown to realise that Jane Rizzoli hated it even more than he.

"Yeah," Detective Rizzoli replied firmly, taking one large step and catching up with her partner, "Lead the way." She commented with a wry smirk, opting to hold the door open as had become customary and indeed, second nature, since knowing Maura.

Frost stepped inside with Jane directly behind him. They were met by a gust of warmth that instantly caused Rizzoli's cheeks to flush a deep red. The merry tinkle of a bell announced their presence to the woman manning reception. As first impressions went, the level of cleanliness hinted at continued within the interior. The shop was brightly lit by long, hanging lights that covered the ceiling and stretched out towards the back room. Unlike many of the other places they had visited that morning; they didn't sense seediness about this particular shop. Even the very floor beneath their feet visibly shone. The workstations, although littered with various instruments and books presumably containing tattoo options, were nevertheless a great deal more appealing.

The young woman behind the counter greeted them with a seemingly genuine smile, exposing a pierced tongue to match the bead in her nose sparkling against the lights. In spite of the shocking pink streak in her short hair the girl retained her natural prettiness; a light dusting of freckles spoke of the youth which starkly contrasted with the daring outfit of black leather she had chosen as appropriate work attire.

"Hey!" The young girl announced, "What can I do for you? Do you have an appointment? We're just about to close for lunch but I'm sure we could squeeze you in if you don't…" Her tone was filled with enthusiasm, and Rizzoli thought that she was certainly the chirpiest of all employees dealt with today.

Again, as had become custom, Jane inched forward and snuck a glance at the name tag pinned to the front of the girl's risqué shirt and introduced herself and Frost, "Actually, we're Homicide Detectives, Boston PD," she slid her ID across the counter and watched as the receptionist's face instantly closed off, her green eyes grew wide as they filled with the specific fear only officers of the law could install in the public, "My name's Detective Jane Rizzoli and this is my partner Detective Frost." He gave the girl a perfunctory nod by way of introduction. Detective Rizzoli added, "Now, if we could speak to your manager or the owner please Amanda?" The simple act of uttering her professional title, even after all this time, still sent a small thrill through the Detective. Jane would never stop relishing her position. The sense of pride and achievement would never lose its shine, not completely.

"Uhm… Sh… Sure," The kid stuttered, obviously relieved that she was not the person they were looking to have a conversation with. As she disappeared into the back room, Jane perused the surprisingly tidy desk in front of her, searching for anything that might jump out at her from just a glance. She was relieved that nothing leapt out and screamed GUILTY in her face, not that she had been expecting it too, but she had found information in stranger places.

Amanda reappeared moments later with a man who defied Jane's growing stereotypical view of all men and women who worked in or owned one of these businesses. He was clean shaven, handsome enough in a forgettable way, and his fresh face was void of any and all piercings. Indeed, he didn't strike Jane as the type to even have concealed tattoos underneath his neat polo shirt and slacks. He was a tidy man wearing a pleasant, if slightly wary, smile to greet the Detectives. His expression was one of polite confusion, and, despite her immediate surprise at his appearance, Rizzoli's impression of the presumed manager set no alarm bells ringing. However, she was well aware of the masks of pure ordinariness that concealed a dark, twisted mind beneath every pleasantry.

"Detectives, my name's James Gardener, I'm the owner. How can I help you?" He said, offering his firm handshake first to Rizzoli and then to Frost. Rizzoli's glare was always the most intimidating, and so she focused it on the owner whilst Frost calmly explained, "Detectives Frost and Rizzoli, sorry to disturb you Mr. Gardener, we're investigating a potential crime and we were hoping for just a few minutes of your time in case you might be able to offer us some assistance."

Gardener glanced at his young receptionist who had taken up her post behind the desk again and was making a great show of pretending to be busy. Taking pity on the girl, he said, "Amanda, go on through to the back room for a couple of minutes. If the Detectives need your help, I'll fetch you." His employee's expression all but collapsed in relief as she scurried past the two Officers with her head down, avoiding eye contact, and once again disappeared from sight.

"Please, take a seat," The owner of _Skin Deep_ offered with a wave of his arm. The small waiting area contained a comfortable looking leather couch and two chairs. Frost remained standing whilst Jane chose one of the chairs and James Gardener dropped down onto the edge of the larger couch, maintaining a level gaze with the Detectives as he did so.

He spread the interlocked fingers of his hands invitingly, clearly waiting for an explanation as to why his business was being disturbed. Detective Rizzoli opened the interview, "I'm afraid due to the sensitive nature of this investigation I have to advise you that any information we disclose to you has to remain confidential, failure to do so could potentially lead to you being cautioned or charged with perverting the course of justice…" Her tone was suggestive enough of the further consequences of disobeying this request to prompt Gardener into eagerly nodding his assent, "We are looking for someone who might be able to identify a potential victim of a serious crime by way of a particular array of ear piercings." Jane was actively trying to avoid using the term _'homicide,'_ due to the fact they had no body and no other indication that the victim was indeed deceased, it was possible that the young woman was still alive. Maura had made it clear that the ears could have been removed pre or post mortem, there was no way to tell as any residual blood they could have tested had been thoroughly cleansed.

Previously, Rizzoli had been awed at how many of the professionals they had convened with that morning were seemingly quite able to recall customers who had those particular piercings, but none of them fit the age bracket or the profile of their young victim. She felt a familiar gleam of hope bubble in her chest once more as Gardener readied himself for her questions by edging forwards in anticipation of her description.

"Now," she continued sharply, "I can simply describe those piercings to you right now, including the type of earrings and exactly where the piercings are located, but if you would prefer to look at the evidence we have, that is also possible. Again, I have to warn you that the image we have in our possession is potentially disturbing. Its graphic nature could upset you, now, please bear that in mind when you make your decision." Detective Rizzoli was determined to be explicitly clear in her instructions; the last thing she wanted to deal with in the midst of this investigation was a complaint from the public.

"Show me the picture, if you have one with you." He replied after a moment's thought, then, "It'll be easier to remember if I can see them."

At a nod from Frost, she reached into her blazer and produced the image before laying it flat on the small table between them. Gardener slid the picture closer towards him whilst simultaneously producing a pair of glasses from a case sourced inside the pocket of his slacks. Jane thought she saw a flicker of revulsion pass across the man's features for a fraction of a second before his mask settled once more. Again, she was whispered to by her gut that this man was not a suspect.

Jane sensed a shift in the atmosphere before Gardener uttered a single syllable. With experience came a high level of awareness. The mental process occurring in this man's brain was almost as evident to the Detective as the physical being before her.

"Oh _shit_…" Gardener breathed out in a strangled voice. Rizzoli felt a flash of excitement roll through her; there was recognition in his eyes now. She could see it. "Shit… I'm sorry," The young shop owner placed the image back down on the table, this time with the grisly sight facing downwards. He brought a shaking hand to his mouth and swallowed thickly a few times.

Rizzoli took a breath, giving Frost a look over her shoulder, "Sir, I understand this must be upsetting for you, but I have to ask you to look at the image again, if you believe you might recognize the piercings, I'm going to need you to be confident enough to fill out a statement for me. So, please, could you look again?" she asked as gently as she could manage.

Gardener pressed the tips of two fingers against his mouth as he reached for the picture with trepidation. He flipped it over and dragged his gaze towards the horror. Watching closely, Jane was sure she could see tears blossoming in his eyes as he stared down grimly, his lips stretched almost painfully into a thin line of concentration. Eventually, perhaps twenty seconds later, he turned the image back over and placed his palm flat against it, holding it there like it might try to bite him if he let go.

"Sir… Do you recognize those piercings?" Frost asked coolly, extracting his Ipad from somewhere on his person and standing there, fingers poised, waiting for the man to provide a name or an address or anything that he could potentially search for. The tension in Jane's limbs was becoming painful, but she couldn't seem to stop her muscles from stretching and growing taut with expectation.

"Oh God… Anna. Her name's Anna Lewis," James all but sobbed, "My god, I know her Father. I've known her since she was just a kid… She's a regular here. She does shifts for me sometimes… She works down at Joe's Diner, just a couple blocks away… I know her. I know her." Gardener uttered weakly, pushing trembling hands into his dark hair and rubbing fiercely, as though attempting to scrub the sickening image from his mind. "She had been saving up for those new piercings. She had some kind of infection from swimming and had to wait… She was just here, a few days ago… I did them for her, like always, she was so excited…"

Although sympathetic, Jane was aware that his composure was breaking, and so pressed on hurriedly, "Do you know her address Mr. Gardener?"

"Uh… Yeah," the man sniffed, "67 Witrun Avenue…"

"Is this her?" Frost interjected, holding up the Ipad which now had a picture of a smiling young woman with blonde hair, deep dimples and those distinguishing piercings. Rizzoli cursed mentally. Anna Lewis couldn't be more than twenty years old, judging by that picture. A tortured sob broke free from Gardener's throat as he forced himself to nod. "That's her, oh my god… But you have… _Those,_ so…"

He paused for a moment, staring up at the picture of Miss Anna Lewis through blurry eyes as though hypnotized, "Where's the hell's the rest of her?" James Gardener rasped accusingly.

_Loss and possession, death and life are one. There falls no shadow where there shines no sun. _

**Hilaire Belloc**


	4. Chapter 4

_Dying is an art, like everything else,_

_I do it exceptionally well._

**Sylvia Plath 'Lady Lazarus'**

Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh announced his arrival in the squad room with a number of barked orders that had various Officers simultaneously scurrying to complete the tasks and run for cover from his scalding fury. The hardness in his face was often mistaken as cold indifference, but Cavanaugh's main problem was that he cared too much. It was an issue that plagued him for years on the force, and it was part of the reason he decided to eventually apply for the position of Lieutenant. Although he had to deal with the politics and the media far more than he liked, it maintained a safe distance from the daily carnage. He made it his duty and responsibility to transfer the deep rooted desire to keep people safe from the victims onto his team members for the most part. At least he had the power to order them around and ensure their performances were being constantly monitored.

"Rizzoli!" Cavanaugh all but snarled in his rough voice as he stalked past the younger woman's desk. Jane snapped to attention immediately, cradling the phone she had just been using against her shoulder as she looked directly at her superior. Cavanaugh straightened his navy tie with one hand whilst he regarded his trusted Detective. Eventually, he said, "Gather everyone in the briefing room. I need to talk to them again; we gotta to get a handle on this before the press gets their teeth into it. You talk to the vic's family?"

"Yes sir, they co-operated with us, we're just waiting for the lab to confirm or refute the DNA samples." Rizzoli answered quietly.

Cavanaugh nodded, apparently satisfied for the time being. He reached into his pocket and produced a packet of chewing gum which he offered first to Jane, who politely declined, before tossing two pieces into his mouth and chewing rapidly. "Meeting starts in forty minutes. If anyone's late I will personally see that they spend the next month chained to their desk." The Lieutenant warned ominously before taking his leave.

Detective Rizzoli winced inwardly, recalling the events of that afternoon as she watched her Boss cross the length of the room with long, angry strides. Explaining to a victim's family that their beloved was dead was never an easy task. Whether the death was accidental or purposeful, gentle or brutal, it was a part of the job every officer dreaded.

Detective Jane Rizzoli could remember the first time she knocked on a door with news that would forever alter the course of countless lives. A young woman had been found stabbed to death in a park. The motive happened to be robbery, but Jane struggled even to identify that as motive enough for the damage done to another human being. The expression of pure, visceral agony on the face of the victim's Mother still, years later, jolted Rizzoli awake at night bathed in her own sweat and regret. The aftershocks of death tremble for years in the changed lives of the people they leave behind. This extends well into the years after the body has been buried. The body is a mere vessel, the soul, the memories; they all remain to bask in the torment of those who grieve.

Despite this, it was still an easier job if one had a body to identify and claim. It had become apparent over the years that even the smallest amount of acceptance and closure can only truly be gleaned if the family can say goodbye to their loved one. Although she detested having to stand by as someone formally identified a corpse, it was a damn sight better than suffering the torture of being unsure as to whether or not the victim is deceased.

In this instance, the only evidence they had that a crime had been committed was a set of bloody ears, torn from an unwilling skull with, according to Maura, almost surgical precision. Without the body, it was impossible to determine if the victim was still alive out there. Frost and Rizzoli had employed every ounce of tact they could, but today would nevertheless be marked down as one of the worst they were yet to experience in their careers.

After transporting Mr. James Gardener to the station and handing him over to Korsak where he was then shown to an interview room and informed of the process of preparing a formal statement, they consulted with Cavanaugh before driving out to the address Gardener had provided them with. Their intention was to be delicate in their description of what had been delivered to Jane, and making the request to acquire the DNA sample they needed to confirm the appendages did in actual fact belong to Miss Lewis.

Both the Mother and Father were teachers at a local high school, and upon entering their home, it was clear from the outset that Anna was their entire world. Smiling pictures stared down at Jane accusingly from every angle whilst she relayed what little information they had to the horrified couple. Disbelief reigned supreme in the aftermath of the delivery of their terrible news, but soon, that emotion gave way to sickened terror and debilitating anger.

Their pleas left Detective Rizzoli visibly shaken. The sound of Mrs. Lewis sobbing from the kitchen as Frost swabbed the young girl's room for prints, hair and skin samples, was something Jane knew that she would not be able to shake free from her mind for a long time. Her anguish, and that of her husband, was a palpable emotion that could be felt in the very atmosphere. There is no proper way to respond to news that your only child is most likely dead. There is no set of rules regarding the proper way to react in such a situation. Perhaps if there was, Jane might be able to prepare herself better for dealing with the aftermath.

Shaking her head forcefully, Detective Rizzoli placed the phone down heavily in its cradle and leaned back in her chair, pushing long fingers into her hair and stretching it from the roots outwards until her scalp stung. She did this often. It was an attempt to regain focus, to haul her mind back from the precipice of the great abyss, and into the present task at hand. She needed to gather everyone for the briefing. She needed to stay in control.

"Officer!" She snapped at a passing uniform clutching an armful of files in his arms. The young man jumped, snapping to attention much as she had done when Cavanaugh addressed her moments ago, and looked at her nervously, the thin mustache on his upper lip trembling slightly, "I want you to go organize the coffee machine in the briefing room, and it better be up and running in forty minutes or the Lieutenant will have your ass on a plaque above his fireplace," Detective Rizzoli raised an eyebrow when the young men didn't move immediately, _"Beat it!"_ She ordered forcefully, and watched with a smirk as he took off at a sprint.

Jane quickly logged into the internal communication network installed on every departmental computer in the building. She typed out a short email and sent it to each of the departmental heads, including Doctor Maura Isles, and then summoned Frost who she then instructed to telephone each of the departments. Cavanaugh would have already informed everyone who needed to be present of the time and location of the meeting, but Jane wanted to be sure that nobody had any possible way of wriggling out of it and blaming her for not contacting them with the details.

As lead Detective on the case, she would also have to be at the meeting, along with Frost and Korsak, who were working alongside her. The only upside to that was the fact she wouldn't miss out on any key information and would be one of the first people to be made aware of updates.

Doctor Maura Isles entered the room with precisely five minutes to spare and her gaze immediately fell upon the three people she trusted with her life. Indeed, the three people who had saved her life on more than one occasion. The conference room was busier than she expected it to be. The Doctor had to squeeze past a great deal of large, impatient men before she broke free of the crowd and found a clear pathway to the one person she needed to be close to.

Maura had been under the impression that Cavanaugh would be attempting to keep as much of this investigation under wraps as he could possibly manage. Then, as she was riding the elevator, it occurred to her that what he needed, perhaps more than anything, was co-operation between the departments. If anyone so much as breathed one single word of the note Jane received, or the potential identity of the victim to the press, there would have to be a full scale investigation launched. Quite simply, they didn't have the man power or the time for it, not in the middle of a case of this scale.

The exhaustion on Maura's face was as evident to Jane as the sun in the sky, but to anyone else it would have gone unnoticed. Detective Rizzoli saw it in the lines at the corners of her girlfriend's eyes, the dullness inside the normally vibrant pupils and the pinched skin of pale cheeks. Maura brightened slightly upon noticing the welcoming smile Jane was wearing just for her, standing at the back of the room, flanked by Frost and Korsak, all three of whom were protectively clutching cups of coffee to their chests as though terrified someone might snatch the precious cargo away.

Rizzoli held up a hand with an indulgent, if slightly tired smirk, and smartly extended her arm invitingly to their latest arrival, sweeping the Doctor safely into position beside her team.

"Hey Doc," Frost and Korsak said in unity as Maura flashed them a muted version of her famous smile by way of greeting.

Jane passed over her cup of coffee and muttered, "That's the last of it, I know you hate the coffee here but…" The Detective paused, looking on with amusement as Maura raised the cup to her lips and took a hearty sip, closing her eyes in contentment as the hot, soothing liquid made its way down her throat, "Desperate times…" Jane trailed off with a grin.

"The DNA results have been confirmed. The victim is indeed Anna Lewis," Maura sighed, handing the cup back to Jane regretfully, "I made Lieutenant Cavanaugh aware of this prior to the meeting."

Frost rubbed his hands together before sighing from somewhere deep in his chest, "I knew it would be a match. Since I saw Gardener's face earlier… It had to be her."

"That poor kid's parents," Korsak commented quietly, and Jane reached out to squeeze his arm.

Maura pushed a strand of hair back from her face as she commented, "After we're done here, it's my intention to visit the Lewis residence and oversee the evidence collection. We can't afford to miss one single fingerprint or fiber of what could potentially be a crime scene."

"I'll come with you," Jane offered, and Frost and Korsak quickly nodded their assent, "We need to go through that place with a fine tooth comb." She added.

Maura smiled tiredly, "Looks like we shall all be, as you like to say_, 'pulling all nighters.'"_

Jane's exaggerated low groan of resentment was masked by the sound of the general chattering going on around them, but even that dissipated when Cavanaugh pushed open the door and made his way to the white board at the front of the room. The weight of the silence was heavy with anticipation. Having already attended one of these meetings, most of the attendees were well aware of what information was soon to be divulged.

Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh cleared his throat and noticeably straightened his posture before addressing the Officers standing before him. His gruff, booming voice sounded strained as he began, "As much as I dislike having to pull you all away from your duties, I felt it was necessary to gather everyone together again and provide an update."

Cavanaugh took a breath and set his jaw, "Earlier this evening, a DNA match was made. The set of ears that were delivered here through unknown means have been identified as belonging to twenty year old Anna Lewis."

There was a general grumble of upset that rolled over the group in a wave of resentment. Many of the men and woman gathered had children of that age range, and there was not one person who could confidently say that the presumed murder of a young woman with her entire life ahead of her did not fill them with a sickening kind of disgust and dread. Someone from Robbery Homicide began passing out the smiling image Frost first pulled up on his Ipad what seemed like days ago to Jane Rizzoli. When she finally had one grasped in her hand, she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from it.

Having seen most people now had a copy of the image in their position; Cavanaugh went on, "As you are all well aware, this has the potential to become a media sensation. It's our duty to maintain some sense of dignity and respect for this young woman's family and friends, and so at this particular moment we won't be informing the press of her identity. We have prepared a statement which will be delivered to all major news outlets by morning which provides a basic outline of what we know. There will be no mention of the message that accompanied the severed ears, there will be no mention of the victim's identity," He paused to ensure everyone's attention was indeed directed his way before continuing, his tone harsh and commanding, "And there will be no mention of which member of our team was contacted by the perpetrator."

Maura felt Jane shift uncomfortably beside her and reached down to briefly squeeze her hand. The Detective glanced sideways with a grateful smile on her face and gently held Maura's hand for a moment before releasing it, feeling considerably lighter.

"If any of this information gets out, it will have come from someone in this room. And if that happens, I'll make it my personal mission to find out whoever is the source, and ensure they never work in law enforcement again. Is that understood?"

The murmur of assent was apparently now enough for Lieutenant Cavanaugh, for he rather aggressively shouted, _**"IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?!"**_ a second time, and was met by louder sounds of agreement.

"Time and a half for anyone who's working through the night. If not, I want you back in here at six o'clock tomorrow morning. We're going to be flooded with calls from the public when this statement reaches the press," He clicked his tongue, "Friends turning in friends, neighbors convinced the guy across the street has bodies buried in his yard…" Cavanaugh grunted distastefully before finishing with one final instruction, "And I want you to make sure your Officers are prepared for them. Make sure you explicitly warn them to record every single call we receive, the last thing we need is some review team or a prosecutor down the line coming in and picking our case apart." Cavanaugh warned as he began gathering his papers together at the desk behind him.

"Thank you everyone," He called out to already retreating backs as an afterthought, "Dismissed."

* * *

"_What the mass media offers is not popular art, but entertainment which is intended to be consumed like food, forgotten, and replaced by a new dish."_

**W.H. Auden**


	5. Chapter 5

_The wolf is carnivore incarnate and he's as cunning as he is ferocious; once he's had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do._

**Angela Carter**

"Right then," Frost announced as he entered the bedroom belonging to Miss Anna Lewis, briefly nodding a greeting towards Doctor Maura Isles and the two other technicians dusting for prints along the window frame and in the bathroom, "So Frankie and I have been to the diner where she worked and according to her Boss," Frost flipped open his small notepad to be absolutely certain of his quotes, "_'She seemed fine when he said goodnight,' _and as far as he knew _'she walked right out the door and onto the bus,'_"

Jane blew out a puff of air up into her sweaty bangs to briefly give her some respite from the stuffiness of the room as she dragged her gaze away from the delicate process occurring just a few feet away from her and replied, "He didn't see anyone hanging around outside, maybe a customer who was a little more interested in her than he should be?" she asked, her tone slightly desperate.

Frost pulled on a pair of plastic booties whilst he shook his head, "Nope, he said that it was mostly regulars in that evening and Anna was acting completely normal, there was nothing out of sorts and nobody hanging around outside, or inside for longer than it took for them to eat, drink and go."

"Shit," Jane muttered, "Well just because they're regulars doesn't rule them out, you get a list?" She snapped out.

Frost raised an eyebrow, "Of course I did, it's being processed right now, and I'm heading back to the station soon to oversee it. Korsak and Crowe are handling the parking lot outside the diner and the surrounding area's been shut off for a sweep... I just wanted to check in here first before I go back..." He trailed off as self realization dawned on his partner's face. It wasn't like Jane to question his abilities. She knew that Frost was unbeatable when it came to gathering evidence and cross referencing names. Her faith in him was as solid as ever, but when she was as exhausted as this she tended to forget that other people were indeed capable of conducting their duties without her specific instruction.

Jane waved her hand in silent apology, "Sorry," she quickly added as Frost shrugged in acknowledgement, "It's a shame her parents were asleep... We have no way of knowing if she even made it home." The frustration that had been building inside them both all day was slowly coming to the surface. They knew that their priority was to remain objective and finish processing both scenes before getting some well earned rest so they could start fresh the following morning.

"Where are the parents?" Frost asked as he watched Maura pointing out some trace evidence on the bathroom floor.

"The Father's down at the station and her Mother's staying with her sister," Rizzoli said tersely.

Frost gestured towards Maura and her colleagues, "They found anything yet?"

"A whole load of nothing Frost," Jane grunted, rolling her head back to ease the tension working itself into tight knots at the base of her neck, "There's a ton of prints in here, we've got some people back at the station processing all her friends and family so we can eliminate their prints. It's gonna take forever," Detective Rizzoli replied irritably, swiping a hand over her eyes to rid them of at least some of the itching that came whenever she spent more than twenty four hours without sleep.

Maura Isles tugged off her gloves as she stood up and walked towards her friends. Jane raised her eyebrows at the tiny wince on her girlfriend's face. No wonder the woman was in pain, those high heels must be killing her considering the fact she had been wearing them since six o'clock that morning.

"We've dusted every possible surface for prints and in total; we've found at least fifteen different clear sets as well as some partials. I heard you mention that this was going to take forever," Maura sighed, "It might not be quite as long as that, but it certainly will take at least a few days for the lab to determine whether all of the prints found match Anna's family and friends, and I would imagine it might take twice as long for them all to be interviewed,"

Jane groaned, rocking back on her heels, "We don't have time for all this! If she's still alive out there somewhere this is all just..." She fell silent, unable to complete her sentence. Finally she said, "Even if he removed both of her ears it's not necessarily life threatening. Blood loss and shock is a concern, but if the sick fuck wants her alive..." Jane scrubbed her hand roughly over her cheek, leaving a pink spot in its wake, "He'll make sure she stays that way, no matter what."

"I've been avoiding saying this..." Frost began, "But have either of you thought that he might be keeping her alive to... Well, to take..." He shuddered, his face growing pinched and pale.

Maura finished for him, "To remove more parts from her body?" Frost nodded, pressing two fingers against his lips. She nodded tightly, "Yes, I have considered it. If his goal is to present us with each of the four body parts mentioned in Little Red Riding Hood then I suppose the most practical thing to do would be to simply take them from Anna."

"But he might want someone else. He might take someone else," Jane ground out, "And if he does it's going to be another nightmare trying to identify them as well. Like Cavanaugh said, we don't have the manpower for it. He's going to have to pull resources from other departments soon if we get hit with more bodies."

It was close to half past two in the morning by the time Jane pulled up outside Maura's house and sat there in the dark for a moment just listening to the sound of her girlfriend's deep, steady breathing. She had drifted asleep right there in the passenger seat almost as soon as she kicked off her heels. Jane couldn't blame her; if their roles were reversed and Maura had been driving she was sure she would have done the same thing.

Although she was loath to wake her from the peaceful slumber she so desperately needed, Jane didn't have much choice. Her body protested every movement, no matter how small, and her back was tight and painful after spending much of the day standing for long periods of time. It took only a gentle, encouraging murmur and a light shake to pull Maura into the land of the living once more, and when she blearily opened her eyes and found Jane looming near her, she couldn't help but smile.

"I do apologize Jane, how rude of me," Maura yawned, reaching down to reluctantly tug her heels back on for the short journey inside. She couldn't wait to remove them for the night and collapse into bed without as much as a shower. For once, she was beyond such things. Maura needed sleep and she needed it now. Maura needed Jane stretched out beside her with one arm slung over her stomach and she needed that now.

Jane grinned tiredly, "Don't worry; thankfully your snoring kept me awake..." She was rewarded for her comment with a smack on the thigh which she took with good grace as they clambered out of the car.

The chilly night air was a welcome change from the stifling heat in the Lewis household as well as the scent of old coffee, body odor and out of date doughnuts that lingered from the precinct. Maura breathed in deeply, happy to finally be home. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Jane doing the same thing, but instead she found her best friend staring at the front door of her house with frightening intensity.

"Jane..." Maura said, willing her voice to rise above a whisper but failing to do so, "Jane, what...?"

Detective Rizzoli held up her hand for silence whilst freeing her gun from its holster, "Get back in the car Maura," she said calmly. The coldness of her tone left Maura speechless as well as terrified, "Now!" Jane growled under her breath, "Lock the doors and do not get back out until I come fetch you," she jerked her head roughly, "Go Maura!"

Fumbling frantically with the keys, Maura hurriedly yanked open the passenger side door and slid onto the seat, locking the doors once she was safely inside. Maura looked on, wide eyed, as Jane approached the front door, gun held aloft. The only sound in the vehicle was her rapidly escalating breathing, so she fought to steady herself in order to focus on Jane.

She moved stealthily around the side of the house, pointing her gun and flashlight systematically in every direction. Eventually, she disappeared from sight and Maura strained her eyes further into the distance, attempting to see what had elicited this reaction from Jane. She thought that there could possibly be something resting on her front porch, but there was no way she could be certain unless she got a closer look.

Maura wiped the condensation building on the window with the sleeve of her blazer, murmuring, "Come on Jane, where are you? What's happening?"

A dark shape appeared at the front of the car, casting its shadow over the interior and Maura's lap. She jumped back against the seat, swallowing a scream of terror like bitter bile. She ducked her body down, reaching blindly into her purse for the can of mace she kept in there.

"Open the door Maura, it's me!" Maura shot back up, heart pounding madly as she squinted out into the semi darkness until she recognized the shape as Jane Rizzoli. Swearing breathlessly, Maura unlocked the door and stepped outside again, angry at being scared so easily, "What the hell is going on Jane?" she barked, her patience running thin.

Jane holstered her gun and reached for her phone. Her face almost appeared translucent beneath the light of the moon, and Maura, if she had been a woman prone to dramatizing situations, might have commented that Jane sincerely looked as if she had just seen a ghost. Instead, she snatched the phone from Jane's grasp and shouted, "Not until you tell me what's going on!"

"Another one…" Jane rasped. Her voice sounded distant and detached, and Maura wondered if her girlfriend was suffering from shock, "Another… Box," Maura could hear the dry clicking sound Jane's throat was making with every swallow.

Doctor Isles turned her head robotically, looking at her home feeling like a stranger, someone who didn't belong here, an outsider.

"Call it in," Maura said, handing Jane the phone. When Rizzoli stared down at the contraption dumbly, her throat still making that awful dry clicking noise, Maura took hold of her arm and forcefully dragged her towards the house. She pushed open the door Jane had left ajar and her inside, both of them taking a great huge step over the box like they were afraid of triggering some kind of detonator.

Maura strode over to the desk where she tended to prepare most of her notes, statements and reports, and began rummaging through the top drawer, all thoughts of how exhausted she was forgotten. She let out a triumphant sound that closely resembled an animalistic growl and glanced back at Jane as she walked smartly towards the front door which still stood open invitingly, "Jane, call it in," Maura said again, and made sure she saw Jane's fingers moving stiffly before she snapped on the fresh set of gloves.

"Maura don't open it, we need to secure the scene…" Jane said in that same detached tone, one Maura found she could easily ignore, _"Maura!"_

The Doctor whipped her head round as she knelt down beside the box, _"What Jane?!"_ She hissed, "I'm opening the box whether you approve or not! He left it on_ my_ doorstep like some kind of perverted gift basket! Never mind protocol!"

And despite the fact she heard the crack in her voice betray her true emotions; Maura returned her attention to the box. It was identical in every way to the one Jane received on her birthday. It even had the same ribbon perched neatly on top next to the label that read '_Maura.'_

She was disgusted by its presence there. It had no right to be here, outside her home. It had no right.

Having made her decision, Maura set her jaw and lifted the lid with no further preamble. She cast her gaze over the contents, feeling her stomach clench in empathy with whoever had fallen prey to the perpetrator. She could hear Jane talking to someone behind her, but she felt so very far from that familiar voice. And as she stared down into the two cloudy, murky eyeballs, Maura thought that they might just be staring back at her accusingly.

"_All the better to see you with,"_ Maura read out loud, her lip curling as she repeated the statement in a louder tone for Jane's benefit this time, "_All the better to see you with."_

_Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it._

**Terry Pratchett**


	6. Chapter 6

_Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is._

**German Proverb  
**

Doctor Maura Isles, if she were to be asked at this precise moment, could only describe her mood as _stormy._ She was a hurricane of emotions. She was a torrent of wind and hail, of fear and hate. She was a gust of pure rage. She was a surge of primal instinct. There was a ball of something hard and rigid deep inside her chest, something that she might not be able to define right now, but later would call the desire to exact vengeance on the animal that had violated her sense of safety in the place she called home. This was that same animal that tore something precious from an innocent young woman, that same animal that had dared to seek out Jane as his quarry.

Soon after she placed the call to inform her superior of what had been left for them on Maura's front porch, Jane had slipped into her stoic professionalism. Gone was that wide eyed, glassy look from minutes before. Gone was the lack of comprehension and unsure actions. Jane rolled up her shirt sleeves and settled back into Detective-mode, and was now barking out orders at the group of unis currently standing in a huddle in Maura's kitchen, out of sight from the members of the press already appearing on the street.

Detective Jane Rizzoli's distinctive voice could be heard cutting through the slightly muggy night air like a hot knife through butter, and Maura couldn't help but smile as she listened to her girlfriend's deep, commanding tone echo around the room. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on the steadying hum of Jane's voice. Maura allowed it to envelop each of her senses. It was almost like being enshrouded in the security of Jane's embrace. The conviction in Jane's voice was reassuring, and if she had been one of those Officers receiving instruction she was convinced that there would not be a second she would feel safe enough to break eye contact.

Jane Rizzoli stood stock still in front of her squad. She had the look of a woman who was just about ready to ride into battle. Her eyes were on fire. Although they were rimmed with deep bags from lack of sleep and narrowed at the harsh glare from the photographic equipment being used by the technicians nearby, anyone could see that the Detective was beyond rage. The various men and women gathered before her shifted restlessly from foot to foot, eager to be freed from under Rizzoli's vehement stare and out doing something useful. When their Superior began speaking, they fell absolutely silent. Whatever reservations they had about the current situation did not extent to Detective Rizzoli.

"I want a perimeter set up around this street. I want officers at each exit checking identification. Nobody without a resident's permit is allowed in, and nobody is allowed out until they have been thoroughly questioned by us. Get me a blockade for the press set up, I want at least three officers manning it all times, if I see so much as a flash being directed at the contents of that box I'll have each of you hogtied and sat outside Cavanaugh's office so he can save me the trouble of flaying you alive myself."

The unrelenting tapping of Jane's left foot was the only outward sign of her inner turmoil and the stress she was undoubtedly under. Her tone was cold, her expression grim.

"This entire area," she swept her arm out grandly, eliciting a few tiny winces from the perpetually cowed Officers, "Is officially a crime scene. If someone is not in possession of the proper credentials then they can forget about access, am I clear? As lead Detective I want updates on the hour, every hour. If I don't get 'em, it's your ass I'll be hunting down. If I hear so much as a weary sigh pass any of your lips before this is done I'll see to it that any promotions that come along go sailing right over your pretty little heads."

Jane's voice bordered on a growl, but her anger was not directed at her squad, and they were aware of this. Some of them had worked under Rizzoli for a while and it didn't take anybody long to work out that sometimes her main problem was that she cared far too much. The respect and admiration they each privately harbored for her in differing amounts was evident in their diligent note taking, reassuring nods and murmurs of assent and the occasional glance towards Doctor Maura Isles. They were sure she was listening intently from afar and wanted to offer her their sympathy and assurances that they would exact Rizzoli's demands to the letter.

"If any of you breathe so much as a single word of the details of this investigation to the press I will come down on you like a ton of bricks," Jane warned icily, "I will end your miserable career right where you stand, am I understood?" Meek yet eager nods were her only response, "If the press gets hold of this information the public are going to shut down and go into panic mode. We'll be swamped under a mountain of phone calls and false incrimination reports and we will find out nothing about this bastard.

I expect witness reports on my desk no later than nine o'clock tomorrow morning. And if any of them seem important to myself and my colleagues, then I will seek out whoever wrote it up and I_ will_ need a full and detailed account from your very mouth. For the next twenty four hours, you eat sleep and breathe this case.

Be polite and courteous and pleasant to everyone you interview, act like you're interviewing your favourite grandmother. No doubt the press will be doing some canvassing of their own, and Cavanaugh will have all of our hides if Mrs. Smith from down the street has been harping on about our _'harassment,'_ and bad attitudes. So be civil, accept tea from every third person who offers you it or something."

Hushed chuckles washed over the small group, including Jane, Korsak and Frost, each of them shedding some of the tension that had been building for the last few minutes. This was yet another talent of Jane's. No matter how long she bombarded the team with threats against their jobs and lives, she still managed to keep them on side. It was a source of comfort for Maura to hear Jane doing what she does best. It wasn't often she came directly into contact with this version of her best friend, and she too felt some of the tension slip from her shoulders as she chuckled along with the Officers.

"Johnson," Rizzoli barked, and a red headed woman in the front row almost jumped clean out of her boots and then snapped to attention, her cheeks coloring, much to the amusement of her fellow colleagues. As she willed her face to return to its normal paleness, Kimberley Johnson knew she was in for it later with all of them, whether being singled out by Detective Rizzoli ended up being a good or bad thing.

"I hear you've been performing admirably from your supervisor," Jane asserted smoothly, prompting the rookie's cheeks to grow even pinker, if it was possible. Rizzoli flicked one long finger in her general direction, "You're on point. If anything remotely suspicious or anything of particular interest turns up, you report to me first and foremost."

Jane clapped her hands together, startling a couple of the rookies, "Alright everyone? If nobody arses up, next time you're in the Robber drinks are on us."

And on that note the Officers dispersed, eager to complete their assigned tasks and duties. Some of them nodded to Maura as they exited through the back door so as not to further contaminate the crime scene, and she nodded back with as much good grace as she could summon.

Peeking around the curtains shielding her from view, Maura gazed out at the ever expanding sea of reporters with their cameras aimed determinedly at her home and the multitude of bodies moving around inside and outside. She was convinced, despite her rational mind, that they could smell fresh blood. Knowing that she and Jane and their departments were at the very centre of their morbid interest was enough to make her stomach churn.

Maura could only hope that the presence of that gory package lying with false innocence being screamed from the cheeriness of its outer shell would not taint her home the way discovering the true nature of Dennis Rockmond had. Maura spent countless hours and days scrubbing everywhere she could recall that bastard having come into contact with. She fought with the hideous desire to raise the place to the ground and start fresh for months, if only to rid her home from his foulness once and for all.

Maura was sipping at a cup of bitter coffee in an attempt to keep her senses sharp. Moments ago, she had been particularly savage towards her co-workers, and was now regretting the intensity and viciousness of her instructions.

_As soon as the contents of this box are in our possession I am in total ownership of your time for the duration of our enquiries._ She had hissed in a voice that was almost unrecognizable._ Our first and primary objective is to determine without doubt whether these belong to the same victim, namely Anna Lewis. I want DNA comparisons ran and then ran again, I want double, triple, quadruple checks on the findings until we are absolutely certain. _

Maura felt a shudder run through her despite the heat of the coffee warming her from the inside. Never before had she spoken to her colleagues in such a manner. The tirade had continued;

_Everything else is on hold; this is our only concern for the foreseeable future. Tonight, tomorrow, for all intents and purposes, we have no other cases, we have no other commitments. I want the first set of results on my desk as soon as they are available; if anyone, at any point, deliberately delays or otherwise interferes with the progress of this investigation for their own selfish gain I will personally see to it that their punishment is instantaneous and severe. Have I made myself clear? _

An apology was definitely in order, but now was not the time for such things. Her approach had apparently tapped into the hidden reserves of her team, because they were working furiously and without pause in spite of the fact they had just spent the previous day all but locked inside the lab, running test after test on the package delivered to Jane.

Indeed, there was a general thrum of urgency in the air as Officers, Detectives and Crime Scene Technicians all moved in what passed as a relatively harmonious dance of death. Often, during particularly sensitive cases such as this one, relationships were fraught and harsh words were shared. This evening, there was no evidence of such things. As soon as each member of their trusted crew arrived they went to work without complaint. Their awareness of the fragile nature of the investigation was hanging on their ability to be discreet, they communicated only in hushed tones, mindful to show respect in the home of two of their colleagues.

Whilst the flurry of activity bustled on around her, Angela Rizzoli was stationed in the kitchen producing endless cups of teas and coffees for those that came and went. She had a large pot of chicken broth bubbling away merrily beside another filled with tomato soup on the stove, and she had sent Tommy out to purchase some more plastic cups that could be given away without thought, and bread and rolls to bulk out the meal she was offering.

The knowledge that she had been mere feet away from the intruder had shaken her right down to her core, and so she was handling the situation as best she could by distracting herself. Being able to take care of the people who were all here to help was something she could take endless amounts of comfort from.

As she poured a second cup of coffee for a young patrol Officer who looked like he was coming down with the flu, she surreptitiously watched her two girls conducting themselves with an air of utter professionalism. It was with a sense of awe and pride that Angela found herself remarking to various Detectives and Officers and Technicians that she did indeed have the privilege of knowing those women, of being their Mother. As much as she despised the thought of one of them getting hurt there was no denying just how good they were at their respective jobs.

Angela watched her daughter stride purposefully across the room and come to a stop before her girlfriend, laying a comforting hand on her arm to maintain professionalism in the face of their colleagues whilst also offering the comfort they both so desperately needed. The matriarch of the Rizzoli family felt tears prick at her eyes at the sight of their interaction. It was humbling for her to be privy to their love. Angela was fiercely protective of them, and had, on more than one occasion, completely annihilated anyone who passed a snide comment on their relationship. That included her ex husband, who had rather foolishly believed that if anyone would be on his side it would be Angela. She shut him down immediately and put him his place, and had taken great pleasure in doing so.

Detective Jane Rizzoli was mindful of the watchful eyes of her Mother burning into her back and of the curious gazes of her colleagues, so she kept her interaction with Maura relatively brief.

"You okay?" she asked gruffly, searching her girlfriend's face, perhaps for something that would indicate what her reply might be before she uttered it. Jane found nothing but exhaustion and disgust. Maura was weary, and she couldn't blame her.

Doctor Isles sighed and then nodded, "I'm fine, physically at least," her usually bright eyes slid to the open doorway where the package was being categorized and prepared to be transported to the lab. Jane followed her line of sight, wincing when she remembered how Maura had to practically carry her into the house.

"Sorry for freakin' out a little earlier," Jane said quietly, squeezing Maura's arm.

The Doctor blinked at her and then offered a genuine smile, the first she had produced in a while, "Jane," she intoned, "Don't apologize to me for something like that. It was a shock for both of us."

"Yeah well," Jane groused, cracking her fingers, "I'm gonna find the bastard, and I'm gonna make damn sure he knows never to mess around with our home."

Maura, in spite of the circumstances and the people crowded around, felt her heart lift with pleasure. Hearing Jane refer to this house as their home, their shared home, was something she never dared to imagine in the past. Now it was a reality, and it made her even more determined to help Jane find this man in any way she could.

"We're too tired to do anything, and I'm only lead on this case 'cause Cavanaugh has faith in my ability to be objective so…" Jane shrugged, "We need to sleep, or we'll be of no use to anybody." In the past she would never have said anything of the sort, but now, after many years of solitude, she had someone else to think of. Maura wouldn't leave her and so her only choice was for them both to stick together.

"Frankie says we've to crash at his place as long as we need to, Ma's going to stay with Cavanaugh," they shared a grimace of shared mock disgust to lighten the mood, "So, we'll be back in at nine tomorrow… Well," Jane grunted and glanced at her watch, "Today. Just in time for all our reports coming in. Could you pack a bag for us both while I update the boss?"

The Doctor was about to protest this idea before a yawn stretched her jaw and prevented her from saying much of anything. In that added moment of silence she realised exactly how much Jane had changed. During a case like this she would have slept seated at her desk for a couple of hours if she was feeling charitable towards herself, and now she was offering a full four hours of sleep apiece.

"Give me ten minutes," Maura stated simply, leaning up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Jane's cheek before she disappeared upstairs, leaving the bottom floor of her house immersed in a chaos she could no longer bring herself to care about.

_You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough._

**Frank Crane**


	7. Chapter 7

_The flood of print has turned reading into a process of gulping rather than savoring. _

**Warren Chappell**

Spending almost four hours camped outside the home of the esteemed Doctor Maura Isles and Detective Jane Rizzoli, waiting for a peek, or even a glimpse, of whatever the hell was inside that box was not Sarah Martin's idea of a good time. Then there was those three hours standing shivering in the drizzling rain out in front of the Boston Police Department waiting patiently for the press conference that never came. None of this was her fault, and yet it seemed that her Editor had decided to settle the blame for their complete and utter lack of information directly on her shoulders, because she worked the crime desk and was supposed to just _'know things,'_ apparently.

_I'd probably have an easier time arranging an audience with the Queen than getting a direct quote from Detective Rizzoli, _Sarah thought to herself with a snort, taking a sip of her cold cup of coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. She hated drinking it cold, but her hatred was at that minute outweighed by how much she couldn't be bothered moving to rectify the situation.

Sarah Martin leaned back in her swivel chair as she took a long glance around the mostly empty office. Only Frank was still seated as his desk, but he hardly ever went home at a sensible time. Ever since his wife left him he dedicated every viable moment of his time to writing endless, mind numbingly dull sporting articles. Everyone else had clocked off hours ago and left her with nothing more than a salute of solidarity. They had it easy. The most strenuous thing some of them had to do for a story was bake their own cakes so they could write about it from experience for the cooking section.

_Lucky bastards,_ she thought ruefully, running her hand through cropped blonde hair, wondering if she could wrangle one more day without washing it. Sarah smirked as she recalled that she wouldn't have to put up with her ex-boyfriend sniping at her for coming home so late tonight, not after she ejected the scrounging, smarmy, self righteous son of a bitch from her apartment two days ago.

Sarah rolled her head around on aching shoulder. Some nights she felt more like eighty seven rather than twenty seven. She cast a mournful glance at her cup of coffee, willing herself to move from this comfortable chair and procure something a little more palatable. Maybe she could convince Frankie to take a smart jog down to the coffee shop a block away...

Twenty minutes later, Frank had sloped off home with a morose goodnight and a tentative invitation to dinner that Sarah had to shut down with all the politeness she had left in her system. It wasn't a lot, but it was more than he could have hoped for on other occasions. Now that she was the only person left on this floor, Sarah felt under pressure to finish her article and get the hell out of there. Usually, Sarah loved her job more than plenty of other things in her life.

It might remain the main topic of many arguments with her parents, who felt she was wasting her writing talents on _working for a newspaper, for chrissakes,_ but she adored the thrill, she actively sought out difficult cases and puzzles she could crack and question her sources about. Sarah enjoyed being a spokesperson for the victims of violent crime and for the public, and she was long past the point where she cared for her parent's opinion on her career and lifestyle.

Sarah groaned aloud into the empty open plan office space (which was supposed to encourage communication, co-operation and team work, according to the lecture she and her colleagues were forced into attending last month) and re-read the previous paragraph of her article. Her faintly freckled nose wrinkled in distaste as she analysed what she had written;

_As the Homicide Detectives in the Boston Police Department continue to stonewall the press, we have to ask ourselves an important question, should we be made privy more often to the knowledge they have at their disposal to ensure our safety? Or are we better off not knowing what kind of evil stalks our streets, and remain shrouded in the ignorance we have previously been so content with? It is clear from the police presence at the home of Doctor Maura Isles and Detective Jane Rizzoli (pictured below at a Gallery Opening last year) that their private lives have been once again thrust into the spotlight by someone, the identity of whom is currently under much speculation._

That was fourth page material at best. With a defeated sigh that would rival even Frank, Sarah pushed back from her desk, snatching her cup with renewed determination. If she was going to finish that damned thing sometime this side of Sunday then she needed caffeine and she needed it now.

The break room held the acrid stench of body odor and stale food and as she waited patiently for the machine to filter a fresh cup of hot coffee, Sarah stood with her thumb and forefinger wedged beneath her nostrils, warding off most of the smell.

Humming softly, feeling rejuvenated and prepared to tackle her story with a fresh perspective, Sarah Martin exited the break room and clipped over to her desk, wondering exactly how she could properly introduce the concept of information sharing between the Police and the press without being arrested or prosecuted for use of inflammatory language or something and further alienating her from the Detectives she badly wanted to interview.

She was so lost in her musings that she failed to notice what was waiting for her beside the computer until she was a mere two steps away from the chair that supported her weight most evenings. Indeed, the sight was one she couldn't seem to comprehend for a long moment; for it was the most absurd, out of place thing she had ever laid eyes upon. Moments ago her desk had been its usual cluttered chaos, with pens and pencils and torn scraps of paper littering the surface, now, a space had been cleared amidst the mess and a rather large package sat in its place.

Sarah cocked her head to one side and stared, her confused mind rushing to make sense of what her eyes were seeing and force them into some sort of reconciliation of the oddity before her. "What the hell…?" She muttered under her breath, setting her cup down on the desk with such force that the liquid inside rushed over the rim and stained the papers beneath. Sarah paid it no attention, she only had eyes for the box on her desk that had definitely, and oh most assuredly, _not bloody been there_ just minutes ago. The box was a deep purple, a rich color that Sarah herself had always admired, and there were the smallest of golden swirls swimming around in the dark paper. The ribbon resting on top of the package was bright pink. The brightness of it was slightly garish amidst its bed of golds and purples.

Curled around the ribbon was a tag that read _'Miss Sarah Martin' _in little more than a scrawl, and the reporter felt the first sliver of unease taking root.

Surely Frank hadn't decided that now she had declined his invitation to dinner it was time to start wooing her? As she practically ran to the exit Sarah promised herself that if Frank was behind this extravagant gift box she would set him right tomorrow morning and no later. This couldn't go on.

The staircase was empty. As was the floor below. Although her natural curiosity was screaming at her to race back upstairs and rip open that lid before someone could remove the package as quickly as it appeared, Sarah felt that she had to determine whether the person who delivered it was still in the vicinity. The woman manning reception looked at her with such disinterest when she enquired if a mystery man carrying a package had entered the building that Sarah felt exceedingly foolish, and slinked into the elevator to return to her desk immediately after Fiona told her _'No, I'm sure I would have remembered that'_ with the most powerful eye roll Sarah had witnessed in all her years on Earth.

A wave of relief rolled over the reporter when she tripped into the office once more and saw that the box was still sitting on her desk just as she left it. A memory tugged at her mind, and before it could race away she plucked at it and pulled it in for scrutiny.

That box was just like the one she spent the entire day trying to get a look inside. This was like the box that was left outside the Rizzoli-Isles household, the details of which had been withheld with a fierce protectiveness by all involved. A spark of excitement spluttered to life inside Sarah and she unconsciously licked her lips as she untied the ribbon.

Sarah Martin barely managed to choke down a scream of horror as the contents of the package were finally revealed to her. She stumbled away from the desk, still clutching the lid in her hands, pulled tight against her chest as though there to ward off the evil she had just released. The ribbon trailed limply from her arms, like the bloodied tail of a wounded animal.

Gasping for breath, Sarah dropped to her knees and grabbed her purse and began searching frantically for the inhaler she hadn't used in weeks. Once she sucked in a few deep breaths and recovered somewhat from the shock, the petite blonde returned to her original position, standing over the box and gazing down with a sickened sense of morbid fascination. She had to turn away again almost immediately, feeling the blood drain from her face and settle in her stomach with a wet plop.

"God, oh_ god_," she murmured, sucking on the inhaler, her eyes wide and glassy. She risked another glance inside the box and took stock of what she was looking at.

Two severed hands. The bloody stumps were a mess of bone and gristle, but the actual cut appeared to be clean, no hesitation marks from whoever removed them. Sarah swallowed the bile rising in the back of her throat and forced herself to keep looking.

The worst thing about it, aside from the obvious, was the baby blue nail polish applied to the fingernails. It was chipped now. The fingernails were grimy underneath, and a couple had been torn right down to the quick, but the application had once been done with due care and attention, probably by a young woman. It was with a soft sob that Sarah saw that she had recently painted her own nails a similar color, and that those hands could very well be her own.

The note was the last thing Sarah noticed. The dread that was steadily building to a crescendo inside the reporter intensified as she read the message. It was short, and yet so filled with menace that Sarah felt faint at what it could possibly mean, that perhaps she was not the only person to receive such a package, that maybe Doctor Isles and Detective Rizzoli received the other parts of this poor woman.

'_All the better to grab you with.' _

Sarah briefly entertained the thought of quickly hammering out the first draft to an article containing every detail she could produce pertaining to the horror that sat on her desk, and then dismissed the whole idea almost as soon as it came to mind. In doing that, she would have to let that monstrosity stay with her for longer than was necessary, whilst possibly preventing the police from having an edge on the bastard who left it there.

She paused, her cell phone in hand. '_The bastard who left it there.'_

He could still be in the building.

* * *

_Why was so much evil pleasant, pretty on the outside, like poisoned candy? _

**Laurell K. Hamilton**


	8. Chapter 8

_The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, as the first wine-cup leads to the long revel._

**Lord Byron**

A week had passed since the last contact from the man the press had dubbed The Big Bad Wolf. It was difficult to believe this total of seven days because looking around her office Maura would be willing to make her case, complete with quantifiable evidence, that absolutely no time at all could have possibly gone by.

The morgue, which was usually the point of calm in an otherwise tumultuous building, was busier than it had ever been, with various Officers drifting in and out, asking for updates on their cases, begging Maura to put a rush on their results. She was exhausted. Maura was physically and mentally drained by the last few days and the very last thing she needed to be doing was studying the articles that made her itch with the desire to throttle every living reporter she could get through before being arrested.

Moving from article to article as fast as she could possibly skim read whilst still taking in all the necessary information, Doctor Maura Isles released a fraught, heavy groan and leaned back in her desk chair, utterly demoralized by what she was seeing right there before her. Maura had been flicking through page after page of sensationalized newspaper articles for the duration of the lunch break she rarely utilized properly. She could hardly believe just how many reporters had somehow managed to get their hands on as much gory details as were spread out across her screen.

There were a number of issues that bothered Maura more than anything, more than how graphic many of the stories were. Firstly, she found the name the press had given to their perpetrator to be inappropriate, disrespectful and tasteless. It might be fitting to have entitled this man The Big Bad Wolf, but she certainly didn't find the monstrous images of snarling wolves plastered next to news articles and pictures of his victims suitably sympathetic enough towards the families.

Maura supposed the media and public interest was bound to have intensified after the lab determined that the separate appendages delivered to her home and to the workstation of Sarah Martin belonged to two different people, neither of which were Miss Lewis. So far they managed to ascertain that the set of eyeballs found on her front porch came from Mr. Jeremy Rutherford, a cab driver in his mid thirties, but they were no closer to establishing an identity for the owner of the hands.

Jane and the team spent countless hours attempting to determine why the perp had changed his MO. To move from a female to male victim in any account was odd, indicative of an offender who does not care to discriminate between those he chooses to harm, indeed, his gratification comes more from the act of murder itself as opposed to any enjoyment that might be gleaned from destroying the life either a man or a woman as a replacement for someone in his life.

In this case it was exceedingly strange. At first they had all quite naturally assumed that his victim, or victims, would all be young females to accompany the theme of the Little Red Riding Hood tale. Now, this opened up an entirely new spectrum of possibilities and motives.

And she didn't even want to think about what was happening upstairs. Her lab was swamped with paperwork and requests and they had a backlog of bodies they were yet to deal with properly because they'd been so focused on the Wolf case and they were struggling. Doctor Isles was considering calling in some assistance. She had been assuaged by offers in the past. Doctors desperate for experience, hungry to work alongside the Chief Medical Examiner, but now was truly the first time she had even given it proper consideration. It could potentially relieve her from the cases she couldn't devote enough attention to at the moment.

That was a decision for tomorrow. Right now, she needed to organize her notes for this evening. Cavanaugh was currently in the process of rewriting his statement for the press which was to be delivered by ten o'clock that evening. In the original copy there had been strict instructions for young women to be accompanied by a parent, friend, sibling or partner wherever they went, no matter how short the journey, but now that had to be altered. The warning had to be extended to the general public as a whole.

It was a mess, a complete and utter mess. Maura was prepared to stand before the baying crowd of reporters for her designated time slot if only to reassure and make a plea for information. Usually, Cavanaugh liked to keep her and Jane out of the spotlight as much as he could manage, but under these circumstances, reassurances pertaining to the evidence being handled with due care and respect needed to come from straight from the source.

Maura was close to losing patience with everything and everyone, so no doubt the Detectives would be just about tearing their hair out by this point. She was aware of the fact their phones had been ringing, ringing, ringing on the hour every hour since this went public. Just as predicted, they had men and women claiming to have seen their neighbors transporting bodies, digging suspicious holes in their backyards, noticing that their spouses and children and friends were acting out of character. It was, to put it quite succinctly, mind boggling.

The snarling pictures of wolves with their yellowing teeth bared were growing tiresome by the fourth report. Doctor Isles had reached the eighth, and by now the novelty was long gone. Despite the fact some of the writers attempted to put their own spin on the story, turn it into something more than what it originally was, Maura still found it incredible how this managed to go viral in such a short space of time.

The social networking sites were rife with false accusations, web pages dedicated to The Big Bad Wolf, teenagers and adults alike claiming that they were responsible for the heinous crimes committed and that they had the evidence to prove it. Jane had stormed into her office just a few hours ago practically foaming at the mouth with rage having just participated in a raid that yielded nothing more than a teenage boy who had posted anonymously online about choosing his victims carefully. His story sounded credible enough to warrant a search of the address Frost managed to track down, but when it was proven to be all fabrication Jane almost lost her temper with the boy.

Not that anyone could blame her. They were losing time, and to spend even a moment of it dealing with false confessions and flimsy eye witness accounts that lawfully had to be processed must be so frustrating.

Momentarily distracted by a particularly inflammatory comment lodged within one of the news articles she couldn't seem to stop poring over, Maura failed to notice her phone vibrating until it emitted such a vile, intense shriek that she very nearly overbalanced in her chair. Breathing heavily, she snatched up the offending item and pressed it to her ear with a curt, harsh, "Doctor Isles!"

"Maura, it's me," Jane's voice was far hoarser than usual due to lack of sleep and overuse. She'd spent that morning having intense discussions with her squad members over their findings from the different crime scenes, hoping to uncover some new information and failing miserably, "I wanted to let you know that we've just had an anonymous tip off telling us to head to this address… Maura I think this time it's legitimate."

There was a note of wary expectation in Jane's tone, but it was masked by the heavier, louder sound of apprehension Maura could pick out with no trouble.

Jane sucked in a deep breath before continuing, "We're getting ready to take a team out there right now, but just in case we find… Anything, I would be ready to follow on after us pretty sharpish. I've got a feeling about this one Maura."

* * *

The scene was in utter disarray. Bedlam reigned upon the small area as Detective Rizzoli looked upon a thick barricade of black and whites, uniforms and flashing lights illuminating the movements of her fellow officers as they secured the crime scene and began setting up a perimeter. When the press got wind of this development, which they would, sooner rather than later, they had to be prepared for it this time.

EMS trucks and one sorry looking ambulance lined the run down building as if waiting for a golden opportunity to be called into action. The sad truth was that the time where they might have been useful had passed. Soon, they would take their leave and make room for the Medical Examiner, her assistants and their vans. There were no live bodies in this building. Doctor Maura Isles was soon to convene with the dead inside and then there truly would be no place for those whose lives revolved around saving the living.

The colder weather which had just began settling in brought with it a flurry of intense rainfall, washing away most of what could be classed as their crime scene. She could scarcely believe it when she arrived on scene and saw that much of the roof was completely missing, and her disbelief took no time at all to dissolve into frustration and rage when the rain started to pour from the heavens with a vengeance. Despite the fact she and Frost had desperately attempted to cover the contents of the derelict building with tarpaulin sheets, Jane was willing to bet that the lashings of water had already destroyed much of the evidence they desperately needed.

Detective Jane Rizzoli trudged through the sticky dirt underfoot as she waited patiently for Doctor Maura Isles and her team to arrive. She held an umbrella over her head as she stood in the pouring rain but it was of no real use. Jane was already soaked through to the skin. Blowing strands of wet hair out from her gritty eyes she silently cursed the fact her thin blazer had done nothing to protect her from the vile weather. Frost was off scouring the various vehicles on scene for spare windbreakers, but at this point their clothes were beyond salvation.

Dragging a hand back through her dripping hair, Jane glared towards the top of the building their anonymous message had directed them to. Their suspect had used a recording of his voice and then altered it to relay the information, leaving them with little doubt that this particular caller was indeed on the level. And now, standing here, gazing dejectedly up at the building within which housed horrors she didn't wish to dwell on, Jane cursed the bastard who was leading them on this merry dance.

The large, open plan bungalow was crumbling where it stood. Having already spoken to the company that recently purchased the land and the old property upon it she now knew that it was due to be demolished in the coming weeks and replaced with some sort of office building, which left them with little time to establish why their perpetrator had chosen this site to display the carnage he had created with such due care and attention. It was going to be one massive headache to even attempt to delay the demolition and they would need warrants and subpoenas and there would be numerous discussions arguments with too many people and quite frankly, she just couldn't be fucked with the red tape.

What she needed was enough time to sieve through exactly who had access to the site and interview them. She also needed to know why it was still so easily accessible even though the damn thing was falling to pieces. All of this without taking into account what their killer had left behind. Jane was starting to feel lightheaded at the mere thought of the workload that would soon be landing square on her shoulders.

Rizzoli had been fielding calls from Cavanaugh on behalf of Chief Conway along with at least three from the enthusiastic Assistant District Attorney assigned to this high profile case. It was quite possible there were many more missed calls on her phone by now, considering she hadn't checked it in the last half hour. She was running on empty and the last thing she needed was to lose her temper with someone much higher up the food chain than she happened to be.

The Detective couldn't help but chuckle grimly to herself when the rain finally started to ease off just as Frost reappeared with two windbreakers, looking slightly guilty and out of breath. She didn't bother to question where he'd sourced the clothing from. They decided to head inside once more, picking their way through the small group of officers still milling around, chatting quietly to the EMS techs who were soon to be on their way.

Once upon a time Detective Barry Frost could never have stepped into a crime scene like this without voiding the contents of his stomach in spectacular fashion, and Jane couldn't help but marvel at how far he'd come. Sure, when confronted with the sight and stench of a rotting corpse left to decompose for more than a couple days, Frost would turn tail and sprint from the room without a word only to sheepishly duck back in a few minutes later, pale and shaken. But the fact that he was now able to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jane and look upon the carnage that lay before them without so much as a whimper was quite something.

They were all too aware of what lay beneath the sheets covering much of the floor and what had come to rest upon it, but the images in their minds were still sharp enough to allow them a moment to reflect on how the two bodies came to be. "No drag marks visible," Rizzoli noted, shifting her head to avoid the large drips thudding onto her neck from a piece of rotting wood above them. Although she'd already pointed this out earlier, she felt compelled to mention it again.

Frost nodded, slipping on a fresh pair of paper booties to cover his shoes and handing Jane her own set, "Indicative of a male offender again, it would have taken him some amount of strength to transport both bodies here, especially considering they're both male, weighing at least a hundred and thirty pounds…" he trailed off, wiping his face with a hand that might have been trembling, but Jane wasn't sure.

Jane nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line as she dragged her gaze upwards to the opposite wall. When she had first been confronted with the message splashed across the faded brickwork her immediate instinct was to cover it up. The gory splashes of red were garish and terrible in the midst of such a dimly lit room, empty of all the furnishings it must have possessed at one time or another. It looked out of place and sickening in what could once have been a family room. This room had probably housed people, children, maybe a small, boisterous dog just like her own. This was a room that had most likely seen Christmas mornings and birthdays and parties and memories. And now it was forever tainted.

She'd already decided that the message was not written in blood, but still, that was the effect their offender was looking to create. The words, the letters, they were supposed to incite fear; they were being used to stir up a visceral reaction in whoever looked upon them. He didn't have to use blood. It was symbolic enough.

_"Are you afraid of The Big Bad Wolf?"_ Frost murmured under his breath, his eyes locked onto the words as he spoke them aloud, his voice lower than usual with disgust as he crossed the room to stand directly beneath the writing on the wall. The message was plain, but its meaning was stark enough to interpret with ease. He was playing with them. Clearly the name the media had formulated for him had caught his attention and served his purpose well. He was enjoying this newfound notoriety.

Jane thought that Frost looked small in that moment. Above him towered a wall that now housed a threat, a warning, a taunt, and her partner appeared insignificant beneath it. She had to turn away from him; it made her chest tight and thick to think such thoughts even in the privacy of her own mind.

She heard the familiar voice before the owner of it came into view. Detective Rizzoli relaxed momentarily before her guard shot up again. Doctor Maura Isles was here, and although it would do her the world of good to see her girlfriend, this was still a crime scene and there were still two dead bodies on the floor. Maura thanked the officer who presumably handed her the sheet every member of law enforcement and medical personnel had to sign upon entry to the scene and Jane listened to the sound of heels growing closer.

Doctor Isles spared a moment for perfunctory greetings between herself and the two Detectives, a silent, knowing look for her girlfriend, and then her professional walls were hammered into place as she knelt prostrate before the two bodies hidden beneath the soaked and dripping sheets. Jane couldn't help but admire Maura's impeccable exterior even under such dire circumstances. She had seen the outfit Maura selected that morning, had even watched her put it on, but here, underneath the rumbling gray sky above them, kneeling in a pool of rainwater, snapping on a set of disposable gloves to begin dealing with the bodies, Jane was struck by how effortlessly Maura maintained her humanity in the merciless face of death.

Clad in a thick, deep purple coat that covered her neck from the elements and came to rest just above her knees, Maura looked warm and comfortable, a stark contrast between the two dripping Detectives and their slightly too large windbreakers. But that wasn't all that prompted Jane's heart to melt with love and admiration for her colleague and lover. It was the manner in which the Doctor conducted the initial examination, ensuring every ounce of respect she could muster was directed towards the deceased, it was the way Maura glanced up at Frost before exposing the first body to ensure he was prepared for the gory sight, it was the determined glaze in her eyes that Jane could see when Maura nodded to her, assuring her that yes, she was quite convinced that this was the work of their suspect who had now just been confirmed as a killer.

Jane loved Maura. It was a simple statement, three words that didn't take long to say, but theirs was a love that could only be regarded as complex, complicated, worth every bit of effort they had poured into the relationship that was now stronger than ever, built on solid foundations of respect, friendship and trust. Moments like this only confirmed how she felt. Maura alone possessed the ability to render her almost speechless just by performing the duties of her job. Out in the field, in her element, and in the morgue, wrapped up in delivering the most accurate findings she could manage, Maura was captivating.

Doctor Isles held in a sigh, "The deceased is still in possession of a complete set of ears, including the lobule and the scaphoid fossa, however, he is missing both eyeballs in their entirety."

"Neither victim is Anna Lewis, both male, roughly middled aged... Completely different MO..." Detective Rizzoli stated emptily. Her tone was heavy with defeat

Normally, Maura was able to distance herself from the bodies she worked on. They were no longer living beings with opinions and thoughts and feelings, they were merely vessels, carriers of an abundance of evidence. However, today, Doctor Isles would be the first to admit that this was affecting her more than it should. She couldn't disengage her mind from the image of the box sitting at her front door containing two bloody eyeballs. The connection was obvious. The lab would determine a DNA match for definite of course, but for the moment, Doctor Isles allowed herself to privately ascertain that yes, they belonged to this dead man. Jeremy Rutherford was lying before her, she was sure of it.

"There seems to be no obvious sign of torture, serious contusions and abrasions on the wrists and ankles suggest the victim was held at length, possibly with the use of either cuffs or chains. The only wound notable aside from the missing appendages is a single gunshot wound to that appears to have entered through the frontal bone and exited through the parietal bone," Maura loomed over the body, indicating the path of the bullet with one finger. She was mentally calculating the man's probable height, weight, age whilst simultaneously categorizing the potential areas for evidence collection.

Doctor Isles worked silently for a few moments, shielding the dead man's hands with clear plastic covering to prevent further deterioration of evidence. She then moved to the second body, eager to finish the preliminary examination and have them transported to her morgue for the official autopsies.

Jane moved closer, leaning over the first body in an attempt to see more of what Maura was doing. Frost was standing at the doorway, ensuring no other personnel entered whilst the Doctor conducted her initial survey of the scene.

"I don't think this guy's missing anything, at least… Nothing I can see," Rizzoli commented, using one hand to hold her windbreaker closed lest it drip water all over the already saturated bodies.

Maura didn't reply for a long moment, but when she eventually re-covered the body, she did so with a strained sigh. Jane instinctively reached for her friend's arm and helped her stand again. They faced one another, both pale and tired, both seeking answers neither could provide.

Doctor Isles buttoned up her collar as she said, "His teeth have been removed Jane. Forcibly," she added thickly, "All of them." A shiver rolled through the Detective as she watched Maura run her tongue around her mouth as though seeking reassurance that all of her own were still intact.

_"All the better to eat you with,"_ Jane breathed, "But where's the message?" she asked, giving the room yet another long, level look, waiting for the final piece of the story to present itself to her, written in an increasingly familiar dark scrawl on a tiny label.

_It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be._

**Virgil, Aeneid  
**

* * *

**A/N: **So, next chapter is when the CM team will be introduced to the story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry for the delay!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Okay, so this isn't particularly integral to the main plot, but just to fill those of you in who do not watch Criminal Minds, (and attention, potential spoilers ahead) Agent Prentiss' death was faked by Agents Hotchner and Jareau to allow her to go into hiding and evade capture from one Ian Doyle. Her injury was real, but her death was not. Now, I don't think I need to go into specific details, the only thing you have to bear in mind is that at this point, Prentiss is not really on good terms with Doctor Reid as he was kept in the dark about the truth behind her departure and that she has been feeling unsettled and out of place since her return to work seven months after her recovery and following the death of Doyle. Sorry if that seems a bit complicated, but anyway, onto the story!

* * *

_The past beats inside me like a second heart. _

**John Banville**

Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss had decided upon waking up that very morning that she was going to make the most of her weekend off. It was a rare occurrence. She supposed it was an occupational hazard of sorts. As a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation it was both her responsibility and duty to be readily available to consult on a case whenever and wherever she was needed. However, the events of the past year had taken their toll on her, physically and mentally. Attempting to simply slot oneself back into her old life was proving more difficult than Prentiss could ever have anticipated. Having spent so long apart from her colleagues it was clear that she was struggling to connect with them again, and she had to find a way to rectify the situation before it started to affect their work.

Today was going to be about relaxing and preparing herself for the week ahead. Despite the fact she'd been back full time for the past month and a half everything still seemed so daunting, so overwhelming, and she was aware of a pressing, growing need to take a step back and recharge. This weekend, two full days away from the office and the paperwork and the ever increasing caseloads, this weekend _had _to be good for her.

A cup of steaming, creamy coffee clutched in one hand, sweetened with the loving caress of splenda, and the morning newspaper and her mail in the other, Emily sat down at her kitchen table with a pleased little sigh of contentment. After hearing a plaintive cry coming from somewhere near her ankles Prentiss smiled and let her fingers trail along the edge of a soft, fluffy tail.

"Hey boy," she said, dipping her hand lower to scratch behind Sergio's ears, "Hey kitty, go on, eat your breakfast," Emily pointed to the cat's bowl and he obediently ambled towards it, probably more out of feline curiosity than any inclination to obey his master. She watched him move gallantly, tail flicking proudly in the air, and recalled how badly she had missed his company through those seven months she spent wallowing in self pity, pain and fear, so far from home.

With a quick mental shake to rid such depressing thoughts from her mind on a day where she was supposed to be feeling good, Prentiss took a sip of coffee and reached for the pile of mail that had built up over the week she and the team spent down in Vegas, working the disappearance of an eight year old boy. In a fleeting moment of self awareness, she reflected upon the moment she came close to losing her temper during the interview she headed up with Rossi's assistance. The bastard had just been so self assured, the confidence oozed out of him until she could practically smell it on her skin, and she hated him for it, despised every inch of him.

As Hotch had insinuated on a couple of occasions Prentiss tended to grow emotionally involved with cases involving children. Never before had she been so close to physically assaulting a suspect, however, and it was only due to her removing herself entirely from the situation that she managed to retain her self control. He wasn't worth losing her job over, but she had been so tempted to wipe that smug little smirk right off of his face.

Prentiss shuffled through the pile unhurriedly, tossing the junk to one side and the bills onto her counter to be dealt with at a later date when she could be bothered to handle such mature, adult matters in a proper manner. Today was not such a day apparently. She was about to throw the last couple of letters into the junk pile when something caught her eye. With cautious, gentle fingers, Prentiss squeezed the envelope, feeling the shapes and contours inside mould to her maneuvers. She sucked in a breath and hung her head low, letting strands of dark hair fall across her eyes.

Her immediate, knee jerk reaction was to carefully lay the envelope on top of the newspaper that sat untouched in front of her and push her chair back from the table, startling Sergio with the high keening noise that the scrape of legs against the hard surface brought. Prentiss scarcely noticed it as she took long strides into her study where she pulled open one specific drawer and extracted a packet of latex gloves.

When she returned to her initial position at the table she calmly lifted the envelope and now, properly equipped, Emily studied it. There was her current address, handwritten in an untidy, rather dark and heavy scrawl. The slant of the letters suggested to her that the person who wrote it was right handed, and most likely male, judging by the weight clearly put behind each curve of the pen and the plain, simple style. The stamp looked utterly normal, it was in the correct area and it hadn't been placed upside down. Prentiss decided that it was not meant to convey any message to her. However, she mentally noted that she would have the back tested for DNA if the contents were anything like she imagined.

Prentiss lifted the letter opener and slit the thin seal. The quiet tearing sound seemed amplified in the otherwise peaceful setting, and she couldn't help but feel a trickle of unease run down her spine. When an individual has spent so long in their line of work there comes a point where instincts can rule over evidence and at this particular moment Emily was prepared to push her desire for factual proof aside and focus on gut feelings.

The single sheet of paper inside the envelope was thin and crisp, folded neatly along its center with utter precision. Prentiss pealed the sheet apart and skimmed the message quickly, her brow furrowing as she did so. Her mind, although troubled by the fact whoever had penned this relatively short message had managed to contact here, at her home, was nevertheless already racing ahead, attempting to determine exactly what her next course of action would be.

"_All the better to eat you with,"_ Emily mouthed softly, turning the page over in her hand as though half expecting an explanation to present itself on the reverse side. With no such luck, she simply resigned herself to the fact that those seven words was all the direct contact she had received from whomever had sent her this envelope.

Holding her breath, Prentiss tipped the contents of the small envelope into her hand and felt a lurch in her stomach as the reality of the delivery became all too clear. Her initial imaginings were now there, resting in the palm of her hand, and the Agent quickly found herself transfixed by what she was holding. Hanging proudly from a simple piece of black thread was a full set of adult teeth, many of which were bloodied and jagged, clearly removed with force.

Illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from her open window, the teeth seemed to be grinning at her as she held them aloft. She could almost imagine them dangling from someone's porch at Halloween, a slightly less than tasteful decoration. But these were real. These once belonged to a human being, and now they were in her home, in her hands, sent to her by an unknown subject.

Her gaze wandered to the letter lying innocently on the table in front of her and she jumped in surprise when Sergio brushed against her calf. She glanced down at her pet and then let her gaze wander back to the evidence lying before her. Emily sighed, eyeing the bloody teeth with a mixture of regret and revulsion as she muttered darkly, "Well, there goes your day off Prentiss," as she gently tucked both the sheet of paper and the necklace back into the white envelope.

* * *

Agent Aaron Hotchner stood directly in front of the screen which had presented many cases to the members of the BAU currently gathered around the round table, waiting for an explanation as to why they had been called in on their rare day off. Tall and severe as always, Agent Hotchner's mere appearance was more often than not a satisfactory device in gaining immediate respect. This afternoon was no different. His presence was as intimidating as it was reassuring to those he encountered, however the members of his team knew him as both a friend and father.

When he was first contacted by Agent Prentiss earlier that morning he had been playing soccer with his son at the park, and his primary desire had been to simply ignore the phone ringing insistently in his pocket. There had been too many occasions such as this, when his son's interests and emotions had been pushed to one side in favor of another criminal monopolizing his Father's time and concentration.

His oath demanded it. His conscience and drive encouraged his continued dedication to the job, and so despite the crestfallen expression on his son's face, he answered the call. When Prentiss then calmly informed him of the grisly contents of the delivery she had received his initial irritation soon transformed into disgust and anger. Only months before had Agent Prentiss been the victim of a vicious assault and following that, a dangerously long period of isolation, the majority of which she spent hiding and fearing for her life. For her to be targeted so soon after seemed like a huge injustice.

Mere hours later Agent Hotchner had most of his team sitting before him, looking to him for guidance, for a satisfactory explanation, for knowledge. They were worried. He could sense it in the atmosphere and in their body language which they so often tried to mask and disguise. Agent Derek Morgan had spent most of the last ten minutes staring at Prentiss, as though attempting to decipher whether or not she was in danger once again simply by sheer force of will alone.

Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia was chattering nervously in a constant stream of disjointed sentences, typing haphazardly on her ipad, attempting to distract her racing mind with the comfort of familiarity in technology. She was all too aware of what his meeting was about to entail, having been called in by Hotch and Prentiss an hour before everyone else to conduct a search on open cases relating to Prentiss' macabre discovery, but she wanted nothing more than to still be tucked up in bed with her laptop, blissfully at peace with the violent world she attempted to avoid seeing too much of.

Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid were standing by the coffee machine, their heads bent close together, speaking in low, hushed voices as they stirred the contents of their individual cups with an almost rapt sense of focus, anything to provide a quiet moment away from the building tension. Reid had been the first to arrive after Hotch, as the Supervisor had expected. He had quite rightly assumed that the Doctor would have been holed up in his apartment, perhaps reading or studying for whichever new degree he was currently pursuing, therefore finding it easy to tear himself away and return to the BAU for this impromptu gathering.

Just as Agent Hotchner was about to begin the meeting, the door burst open and a slightly harassed looking Agent Jennifer Jareau tumbled through, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Sorry for taking so long, I had to find someone to take care of Henry…" she broke off, suddenly growing all too aware of the strained atmosphere, and waved her hand before dropping down into the chair next to Morgan, who, without even turning his head, slid a cup of coffee over to her which was accepted with an almost comical amount of gratitude.

Now that everyone was present, Hotch pressed the button beneath his thumb on the tiny remote control he held loosely in his hand, and a series of images appeared on the screen behind him. "Earlier today, Prentiss received an envelope containing a necklace…" A picture of the item encased inside a sealed evidence bag flickered to life above them, "Made out of human teeth," Hotch elaborated, and he noted the changes in his team's expressions. They had moved on from confusion and were now engrossed entirely in the information being presented to them.

"She also received a note…" The letter in question was the next image to appear, and Doctor Reid narrowed his eyes as he read aloud to the group, "_All the better to eat you with."_

Hotch said nothing and instead pressed the button again, "Garcia searched through open cases with these markers, and found just one… In Boston, there have been three such incidents as this over the course of the last couple of weeks. The first," Hotch pivoted tightly and pointed at the picture of a pair of severed ears with an evidence tag close by, "These were sent anonymously to a Detective Jane Rizzoli at the Boston police Department. And then a set of eyeballs from another victim was left outside the home of Doctor Maura Isles, the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

"I've heard of them, they handled the uh… Surgeon case, Charles Hoyt wasn't it?" Derek Morgan enquired, the naturally deep timbre of his voice resonating around the room. He used his left foot to push himself forward ever so slightly, directing his grainy, bloodshot eyes to his Boss, seeking confirmation. He hadn't managed to grab much sleep the night before, and his only saving grace at the moment was the warm cup of coffee in his hand.

Reid nodded eagerly, sweeping his fingers through his newly cropped hair, which looked like it hadn't been combed as of yet that day, "That's right. Hoyt went to the Emory University's School of Medicine where he was later dismissed for inappropriate relations with a corpse. He generally murdered couples, forcing the husband to watch as he raped the wife before killing him and taking the female to a secondary location where he would later murder her and dispose of the body. His signature," Reid pressed on despite the pointed look from his Superior, "Involved balancing a teacup on the husband's lap to alert him if he moved in an attempt to help his wife. A classic power excitation rapist," He concluded, tapping one finger on the folder in front of him, seemingly satisfied with his explanation.

"He also attacked both the Detective and the Doctor, didn't he?" JJ asked, directing her question to Reid. He stared at her for a long moment before replying, in a short tone, "Yes. On at least four occasions I can bring to mind, the last of which ended with Detective Rizzoli stabbing him through the chest with a scalpel."

Agent Hotchner held up his hand and directed the team's attention back to him with quiet, profound efficiency. "The third instance of communication from this unsub involved him leaving a package containing a pair of hands belonging to a female on the desk of a reporter for the Boston Times," Garcia flapped her arms urgently and turned away from the screen, realizing that this image was a step too far and she would not appreciate the image of_ that_ being stuck in her mind for the foreseeable future.

"A week later Detective Rizzoli and her team received an anonymous tip off with a location where this was found…" Hotch stared at the image of the two dead bodies lying on the ground, their injuries obscured, but the evidence of death clinging to every bloody shred of clothing, every hollowed out facet of their faces. "In each instance, the unsub has made reference to the Little Red Riding Hood tale,"

Prentiss finally spoke up, her arms folded tightly across her black button down shirt, "All the better to hear, see, hug and eat you with," she said, her tone flat, void of emotion, something which did not go unnoticed.

"The press have dubbed this unsub as _The Big Bad Wolf_, a name he seems to have adopted," a crime scene photograph of the wall on which he had painted the words _'Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf'_ appeared on screen and David Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows knotting together as he pondered the implications of such theatrics.

JJ sighed, "I take it they've been all over this then? This is exactly the kind of thing that sells papers," her years of experience as Communications Liaison had instilled within her a deep understanding of what motivates and entices the media. The bloodshed was like a siren call to them.

"Every single newspaper I've scoured has at least two articles on this guy," Garcia said, pushing her bright blue spectacles further up her nose as she poured over the various items on her screen, "Jinkies," she murmured softly, struggling to take in all the information before her eyes.

After around ten seconds or so of silence as they absorbed this information, Morgan eventually asked, "Are we on this case then? I mean, he's contacted Emily, he knows that means he's asking for all of us to come. He's invited us."

Hotch glanced towards the screen as he replied, "Strauss is currently on the phone to both the Director and Lieutenant Sean Cavanaugh from Boston's Homicide Department. He has directly sought us out, but if the Boston Police aren't willing to welcome us into their investigation we will be opening our own." His expression was as dark as his voice as he assured his team that they would have a part in this case.

"He's actively seeking recognition for his crimes," Rossi said, glossing over office politics in favor of exploring the unsub's motivations, his pencil already scribbling copious amounts of notes on his small notepad whilst his free hand scrubbed distractedly at his beard, "It's as if he's challenging all of us. Why would you invite the full weight of the FBI down on you unless you were…?"

Reid interrupted, "Desperate for attention. The dramatic, theatric nature of his crimes suggests that these allusions to that particular fairytale hold some kind of deep meaning and attachment for him, most likely stemming from early childhood. "

"And look at who he's contacted specifically," JJ said, pulling up a picture of Detective Jane Rizzoli and Doctor Maura Isles from an article in the Globe of them attending a charity event, "Strong, beautiful, powerful, successful woman," she nodded to Emily.

The older woman smirked, the first smile she'd produced since that morning, "You're making me blush JJ," Prentiss quipped, batting her eyelashes furiously, allowing the group a much needed moment of shared laughter.

"Until we hear from Strauss, we'll remain here. However, the jet is ready for us to leave as soon as we get word," Hotch announced, settling into the chair at the head of the round table, signaling his presentation was over, "Let's find out as much information as we can. Focusing on Victimology first of all, what do the currently identified victims have in common?" Pulling his folder towards him, Agent Hotchner began the discussion, his phone sitting directly beside him, waiting for the call that would inevitably come from his Superior.

_In your thirst for knowledge, be sure not to drown in all the information._

**Anthony J. D'Angelo**


End file.
